


Warmth 2: Scenes from a Mating

by jamelia116



Series: Warmth--Scenes from a Mating [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 109,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/jamelia116
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of story sequels to "Warmth" by J.A. Toner (jamelia) which will be posted on Archive of Our Own together as one long work. Once B'Elanna Torres and Tom Paris discover they are to become parents after B'Elanna's unanticipated pregnancy, they choose to marry and build a life together. A wedding is one thing; building a marriage is another. Over the several years, the two lovers experience the "good times and bad times" as stated in their wedding vows in the context of Voyager's journey through the Delta Quadrant as they head towards the Alpha Quadrant and home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Honeymoon

**Author's Note:**

> In the spring of 1997, only a few weeks after I wrote my first Star Trek: Voyager fan fiction story, the idea of writing another, much longer, piece consumed me. B'Elanna Torres and Tom Paris, stranded upon a planet with a harsh climate, could survive only if they banded (and bonded) together. The third season Voyager episodes "Blood Fever," "Real Life," "Distant Origins," "Displaced," and "Worst Case Scenario" had convinced me that Tom and B'Elanna were destined to become intimate some time during the show's fourth season. I wasn't the only fanfic writer who was rushing out a "first time" story at the time. I wanted to get my idea out on the Internet, too.
> 
> Somewhere along the way, the story of survival got mixed up with two others I had planned to write.
> 
> As the readers of this introduction may know, these three stories evolved into one long fanfic novel, "Warmth." At the end of that novel, the newly married couple strolls up a holographic beach, their bare feet slipping on the shifting sands, supporting each other as they join their crew mates at their reception. I liked that metaphor, of a couple supporting each other as they traveled over shifting sands; it was very much the way I view marriage. I thought the story was over.
> 
> Naïve me. I was flooded with requests from readers who wanted to see more. Ending a story with Tom and B'Elanna expecting a baby? And not seeing that baby born? Horrors!
> 
> Finally, after multiple requests, I succumbed to the pressure. I would write the sequel—someday—but I didn't know exactly when. Before I actually started to write, I wanted to be inspired by the fourth season of Voyager. I intended for my AU version of the show to converge, as much as possible, with the canon the producers would establish for the series.
> 
> During the summer preceding the fourth season, Robert Duncan McNeill (Tom) confirmed that he and his wife were expecting their third child. Shortly afterwards, other rumors swept the Internet, and eventually, we learned Roxann Dawson (B'Elanna) and her husband were expecting a child, their first, as well. I began to feel rather prescient, to say the least. I began to wonder if I had received some sort of psychic vibes during April and May of 1997 that made me write about B'Elanna having a baby by Tom!
> 
> Ultimately, despite some reported dissension in the production hierarchy, Roxann's pregnancy was not written into the series. One side effect of this controversy, however, was that I decided to write this sequel in a series of separate stories, instead of one long novel, so that pieces of it could appear on the Internet long before the whole was finished. Several of them, including "Nanny" and "Gramps," were published on ASC and other venues.
> 
> By this time, however, several episodes that took place at the beginning of the fifth season did not fit well within the parameters I had set for myself in my overall story. I wasn't sure how to finish "Warmth 2," or even if I wanted to. The resulting Writer's Block affected me so completely that I wrote very little during the next few years. In fact, it was not until the fall of 2008 that I could come up with a concept that held any promise for me, and even then, I was not sure I wished to proceed.
> 
> In June 2013, Katie "Redshoes" asked me a question about the original "Warmth," and I reread the novel. I was inspired to pick up "Warmth 2" again to see if, finally, I could finish it. Whether or not any of those folks who had pestered me into writing the sequel would ever read it, I felt the need to finish it, for me, if not for anyone else.
> 
> Some aspects of this story were extremely painful to even contemplate, let alone write. In a volume of letters written by J.R.R. Tolkien, he describes how Faramir "walked into the story" in Ithilien, in "The Lord of the Rings," and insisted upon being portrayed in the novel, even though Tolkien didn't particularly want him. Since I have only the greatest respect for Professor Tolkien, I listened to him and went with what the characters told me I had to write.
> 
> So, here it is, the story of how Tom and B'Elanna's accidental parenthood prompted them to form a marriage, made in the Delta Quadrant, if not in Heaven. If anyone reading this series is upset about the way things happen, well, may I remind you: I was never planning on writing this at all. I was going to leave it all up to your own imagination.
> 
> Be careful what you wish for, indeed.
> 
> J.A.Toner (A.K.A. jamelia116)—6/24/2013

**Honeymoon**

The hypnotic sound of pounding surf sifted through the open window. The rhythm was not perfectly even. Every now and then, a wave curling its way up the sands might be just enough out of synch to save the listener from classifying what she was hearing as monotonous. That slight hesitation before the holographic waters crashed on the edge of the beach made the illusion complete. Instead of flying through the Delta Quadrant, far from everyone's home, it was as if Voyager sailed the seas of Earth, in the Alpha Quadrant. The salty womb of all life on that planet, (and the majority of others, as it turned out, once humanoids began to explore the cosmos to discover such things) seemed to exist outside the window of a simulated beach house on the Holodeck.

Tonight, the beach house was a honeymoon cottage for two people who had consummated their marriage a few hours before, not that this had been the first time the couple had known each other in a carnal sense. That first time had taken place months ago, on a desolate, inhospitable world designated Tantrum IV by the inhabitants of the starship known as Voyager. 

As she pulled the satin sheet and soft blanket higher over her naked form, the chief engineer's thoughts drifted back to what had happened on Tantrum. In a natural cave, to help each other survive, B'Elanna Torres had seduced Thomas Paris. B'Elanna accepted that as truth. Despite her qualms about his long-term intentions and her uneasiness about her own looks, especially when compared to someone with his classically handsome human features, B'Elanna had asked her only companion on that desolate planet to "keep her warm."

That he did. Repeatedly. Thoroughly. Deliciously.

And today, he promised to continue to keep her, in good times and in bad times, for as long as they both lived. To be one blood, in the Klingon reckoning.

B'Elanna snuggled a bit deeper into the bedcovers, to lean against the toasty warm body of that same Thomas Eugene Paris, Lt. j.g.. The chief helmsman/pilot/flight controller and resident hero of Voyager was soundly sleeping, his arm thrown casually over her stomach, wherein dozed another life form. B'Elanna guessed her daughter-to-be was dozing. What else would a fetus do in the womb most of the time? It was pretty wet with all that amniotic fluid sloshing about her. It's not like she would be swimming around in there. Or would she? Babies kicked in the womb when they got to be a certain size. Was that because they were used to having lots of room to swim around, and when they got too big to do that easily, they'd kick to try to free themselves so they could swim again? To have a temper tantrum, in other words?

Temper tantrum. Tantrum IV. B'Elanna's thoughts had been circling around like this for a while now. With a sigh, she wiggled her butt against Tom's stomach, hoping he'd wake up and treat her to another session of love making. Whenever they were involved in bringing each other to a sexual frenzy, B'Elanna didn't have to think about cold caves, misunderstandings, words of love, marriage vows, tantrums (planetary or emotional), amniotic fluid swimming pools or what a baby thought about before she was born. All B'Elanna would think about was how great she felt and how she could make Tom feel just as good as he made her.

After several more deliberately provocative movements failed to change the even pattern of Tom's breathing, B'Elanna used one last tactic in her arsenal of methods for arousing her sleeping mate. To encourage him to engage in some marital fun and games with her, B'Elanna stretched her petite but strong frame from the top of her fingers to the tips of her toes, then lowered one arm to her side to allow that one hand to creep down to about hip level and explore a bit behind her. She was in luck. Her fingers encountered a nice patch of wiry hair and a fleshy appendage that began to stiffen the more she played with it. It wasn't the only part of his body moving now, either. His arm began to tighten around her, and another hand, not attached to her, was on the move. As his hand reached breast level and began to squeeze gently, Tom's lips, likewise, grazed against her shoulder. 

"Okay. I'm up. You can have your way with me if you want to."

"I do."

"Not surprised."

B'Elanna rolled over, quickly engaging Tom's mouth and body in joining with her in the kind of pleasures they had come to expect from each other over the past few months. 

One thing B'Elanna could always count on. Once you woke the man up, you knew he'd be enthusiastic about whatever it was you wanted him to do--especially if the whatever was sex.

Tonight was no exception, even if this wasn't the first time tonight. The man was good, there was no question about that. Every touch was calculated to induce the most wonderful feelings inside her. B'Elanna sighed into his mouth as he drew his lips against hers, his hands busily stroking over her pregnancy-enhanced breasts before slipping down to the swell of her belly. 

By the time she was on top of him, enjoying the feel of him within her while her hands stroked the outside of him, B'Elanna found herself thinking this being married wasn't so bad at all. Not at all.

=/\=

"After is a good time, too, you know that, don't you, B'Elanna?" His arms cradled her body, his shoulder pillowed her shoulder. His breathing rocked her gently as she lay sated in his arms. 

"Pretty good. I still prefer during."

"My wild Klingon beauty, always ready for battle."

"Tom, cut the Klingon crap for one night, okay? It's my wedding night. I don't want to fight with you tonight."

"I don't know. A fight might be nice, too. Break that clavicle. That'd please the Doc."

"No, thanks. I'd rather all four of our clavicles stayed in working order so the Doctor can't weasel himself into my honeymoon cottage."

He laughed, then held her in silence for a while. His breathing became so even, she thought he might have drifted off to sleep again. She was about to turn over and try to go to sleep herself when she heard him murmur, "I wonder what it's going to be like?"

"What's what going to be like?

"Being a father. Parents. I was talking to Chakotay today at the wedding. He said I'm going to have to be responsible. Hope I can manage it."

"As long as you aren't expected to keep your mouth shut, I think you'll do fine."

"Thank you so much for that vote of confidence."

"You're welcome."

"I will have to talk to her sometimes, you know."

"Of course, Tom. I was joking. You're going to be a wonderful father. You're really good at telling little stories about your life to help people get through bad times. I'm sure you'll do the same to help her."

"Thanks, I hope so," he murmured, shifting his weight around underneath B'Elanna. She shook her head. As much as the man talked, paying him a compliment about his more sincere tendencies always seemed to make him uncomfortable.

"And if you don't have any little life lesson of your own, you can always study up on the standard Mom and Dad lectures. I'm sure the database is full of them."

"Oh, man. Lectures. I hope I don't ever give the 'just think what this will look like to the general public, Thomas,' speech. Or the 'Thomas, how come this grade is a B, not an A?' speech. I really hated those."

"I don't think you'll have to give your daughter any lectures that have you calling her Thomas. All we have to do is not name her Thomas."

"Very funny, B'Elanna. Don't you have a list of things you don't ever want to hear yourself saying?"

"You mean, the 'your behavior has been dishonorable' speech? How about, 'That is not the Klingon Way!' Or all those lectures when I argued about how I wouldn't need to follow Klingon traditions in Starfleet. 'Who needs the Day of Honor, anyway, Mother?'"

He tightened his hold on her, obviously thinking about what had happened only a few weeks ago, on the Klingon Day of Honor. "I thought we were goners, B'Elanna. Here we had just made up and then we manage to blow up the Cochrane."

"We didn't blow up the Cochrane, Tom. The Caatati did."

"I'm not sure the captain much cared who did the actual blowing up. We lost another shuttle. And I thought, for a moment, I would never be able to touch your face again, or ever see our daughter's face."

The slight choke in his voice made her snuggle her face against his chest before murmuring, "It turned out okay, Tom. We're okay. You'll see her."

His grasp around her shoulders tightened a moment before he whispered back, "Sure."

They both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts about what had happened so recently. So many dangers, yet they were still here, together. No guarantees about tomorrow, though. That was one thing both had learned to accept. Today's wedding was just the final acknowledgement. No matter what happened now, there was one thing that could not be taken away. Tom Paris had taken B'Elanna Torres as his wife, and she him for her husband. Death could not change that.

"This is a pretty morbid subject for a wedding night, isn't it, Tom?" B'Elanna finally said, breaking the spell of silence--or perhaps it was a pall--that had fallen over them.

"Yeah, I guess. Let's talk about something else."

"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, I don't know. What about Janeway and Chakotay? Do you think they're going to do it?"

"Do what?"

"Become lovers, what else?"

"Don't be a pig, Tom. Why does every conversation with you have to center on lovemaking?" 

"Every conversation doesn't. I like to talk about flying, too, but we promised no shop talk, remember?"

Shaking her head, B'Elanna started to chuckle, then stopped. That strange feeling was back again. She wondered if it was what she thought it was.

"What's the matter? B'Elanna? Is something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's the matter. Not really. I just . . . "

"Just what?" She detected the note of concern in his voice as Tom propped himself up on his elbow, the better to see B'Elanna's face in the faint light of simulated stars. 

"Oh, it's just this little fluttering I'm feeling, right here." She took his free hand and pulled it to her lower abdomen, over the swelling of her belly that, in her eyes, was becoming noticeably more pronounced every day.

"Flutter, huh? Is Baby Girl making herself a part of the festivities?"

"Maybe, you never know."

"It's about time for it." He softly moved his hand over his new wife's stomach, so lightly that she shivered. 

There was another flutter. No, this time, it was more than a flutter. Most definitely like a jump. Like a swimmer, taking a turn against the far wall of a pool. "There it is again. Think it's a tic?"

He shook his head in the dim light, his teeth reflecting just enough light so she could tell how broad his smile was. "Not a tic. The girl."

She covered his hand with her own and moved it to the spot where she had felt the movement. This time, she was certain, he was right. Baby Girl. There wouldn't be any way for him to possibly feel it, yet, but from the way his hand was grazing her skin, she knew he was happy to share this moment with her.

Tom moved his hand away from her. Lifting his elbow from the bed and balancing himself on one hand, he carefully bent over her and kissed the spot she had shown him. As his lips broke contact with her skin, he turned his head to rest his cheek where he'd kissed her. Dragging her hand through his hair, she encouraged him to stay where he was. She felt it only fitting that on this night, of all nights, she should feel life for the first time.

"I wonder what she'll be like."

"Don't know, B'Elanna. We'll just have to wait and see, I guess."

"I wonder what her life will be like?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? I just hope she'll be happy."

"Me, too. As happy as I am now."

He smiled before turning his head to kiss her belly again—to kiss both of them, really--his wife and his child-to-be.

B'Elanna sighed as she felt his arms settle about her. She was content, yet filled with curiosity and a sense of wonder, too. There were so many things that could go wrong. So many dangers. So many obstacles to overcome. Yet, with Tom's arms around her and his face pressed against her belly, as close to the third member of their family as he could get, she felt that somehow, it would come out all right. Somehow.

Outside the window, the surf continued to pound, as restlessly and as unceasingly as the real seas of Earth.

 

=/\=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Honeymoon": This story is set on the holodeck and serves as a bridge between the "Vows," the fourth and final section of the first "Warmth," and this volume. During the course of the story, reference is made to the Star Trek: Voyager episode "Day of Honor," written by Jeri Taylor.
> 
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


	2. Nanny

**Nanny**

::::Paris to Captain Janeway::::

"Yes, Tom?"

::::Our little "project" is done, Captain. Would you care to come to Deck 5 to see it?::::

"I'll be there in a minute. Janeway out." Turning command over to her first officer, Janeway strode off the bridge and into the turbolift. This should prove interesting.

=^=

The storage bay next to the medical lab on Deck 5 had never been used for much. It had been equipped with holoemitters when Voyager was first built since, technically, it was part of Sickbay and the EMH might, upon occasion, need to access supplies kept there. Items of a medical nature had never been in sufficient quantity on Voyager, however, for the storage space to be dedicated solely to this purpose. Instead, it had come to be the depository for items of a decidedly non-medical nature, even though the EMH might have been involved in the events that caused them to be stored there. The storage bay had become the repository for the crates of the personal belongings no longer needed by their owners. Those owners had lost their lives since the inception of Voyager's journey through the Delta Quadrant. 

Three days before, the crates, now distressingly numerous, had been relocated to a corner of Cargo Bay One, to permit the room to be used for a less morbid purpose. The youngest crew member currently residing on Voyager had just been assigned this space.

Vastly altered in appearance by a newly applied, colorful wall coating and holographic projections on the storage cabinet doors, the room now boasted a diorama of animals from several different worlds of the Federation. Each of the animals parading around the room bore a name tag beneath its image. Other words in Federation Standard appeared on the walls in various areas; the Federation Standard, Klingon, Bajoran, and Vulcan alphabets, printed on the ceiling border of the room, were available for easy reference. Upon entering, the captain examined the walls with approval before approaching the small knot of her senior staff in the center of the room. Lieutenants Paris and Torres, Ensign Kim, Seven of Nine and the EMH were standing with one other entity that Janeway did not immediately recognize, although she was well aware of her identity.

While a new crew member's arrival on Voyager was an extremely rare occurrence, it was even rarer for the captain to come calling on the new addition, rather than vice versa. In this case, it was perfectly understandable. The holoemitters were the key factor.

"Captain," said the Doctor as the group separated to give her room to join them. "I'd like to present Nanny to you."

"Hello, Nanny," the captain said.

The young woman who stood before her, hand extended in welcome, was a pleasingly plump, twentyish woman with dark brown hair, warm brown eyes, and an engaging grin. She had a firm grip when she took hold of the captain's hand and shook it enthusiastically and giggled, "So pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Janeway. I'm sure our professional association will be long and fruitful." 

Perhaps it was not precisely a giggle, the captain thought. It might be better characterized as a bubbling over of enthusiasm, always a good sign in any newcomer, no matter how they happened to come into an organization. Certainly, this crew member had come to Voyager under very unique circumstances, not at all unlike the physician who was beaming by her side.

"Isn't she perfect, Captain? She's been progra . . . taught . . . all of the information in our computer banks regarding the tutoring of children of all ages. She's just about ready to meet her new students," the Doctor stated.

"Students? Plural?"

"Why, yes, Captain. We have my son Jeffrey, of course. His Klingon friends K'Kath and Larg will be joining the class as well . . . "

"Klingons. I see." The captain tightened her lips to keep from smiling. "That should keep the class lively."

"There will be a few others, to promote age appropriate social skills. And then, of course, we wil have our prime pupil. Naomi and Ensign Wildman are on their way here now to meet Nanny."

Hardly was this said than a small girl skipped into the room. Thanks to the Ktarian half of her ancestry, she looked more like a human five-year-old than one with only two and a half years to her credit. She skidded to a stop, almost tripping her mother and Neelix, who had been following closely behind her. "Oh, Doctor! This place looks different!"

"Yes, it is, Naomi. This is your new schoolroom. Would you like to have your teacher take you on a tour?"

"Yes, Doctor. Are you my teacher?"

"No, Naomi. I will give you the occasional biology lesson, but my presence is required in Sickbay, to take care of the crew's medical needs. We have a new teacher for you who can spend as much time with you as you need. Come along and meet Miss Nanny."

The captain pursed her lips as the Doctor escorted Naomi to the teacher, who squatted down to the child's level and introduced herself to Naomi as energetically as she had to the captain. There was a warmer, more nurturing overtone in Nanny's voice as she spoke to Naomi, however. The captain was glad to hear it.

Glancing at B'Elanna, the captain caught her chief engineer rolling her eyes at her husband, who was smirking back at her. The captain whispered, "Don't you approve of Miss Nanny, B'Elanna? You are one of her creators, aren't you?"

"It's not the holographic teacher I mind. It's that dumb name."

"We can help her choose a new name, B'Elanna," Tom said, placatingly.

"Yeah. Like the Doctor has a name?"

"Well, he does. He's, uh, . . . Kenneth, to Mrs. Kenneth," Tom responded, reasonably.

"We aren't allowed to call him that!" B'Elanna said, with enough energy that both Tom and Harry hushed her simultaneously. 

"Don't worry, Lieutenant Torres, I will immediately begin to research a new, appropriate name for our teacher. Once she's reprogrammed, she won't even know she didn't always have it." The Doctor stepped away from the earnestly chatting Naomi and her teacher, who were busily touring the schoolroom together.

"She'll never know? Doctor, doesn't she know she's a hologram?"

"Not exactly," hedged the EMH.

"But Harry, Seven, Tom and B'Elanna spent so much time working on that spare matrix. I thought the whole idea of dedicating it to a use other than recreating your diagnostic program was to permit our new teacher to be self-aware?"

"The Doc doesn't think that's wise, Captain," Harry sighed. Janeway noticed several exasperated looks being exchanged between her three senior staff members and, to a lesser extent, with Seven of Nine.

"It appears that the human members of the design team are not in agreement with your decision, Doctor," noted the captain.

"I don't believe it advisable, Captain. Believe me, it isn't easy being locked up in one small place during every waking hour, knowing you can't move around the ship freely. Trapped, in one location for all hours of the day, ad infinitem . . ."

B'Elanna offered, in a relatively calm, only slightly elevated tone of voice, "Doctor, the two of you could take turns using the mobile emitter until we figure out how the thing works so we can build another one."

"But it could be damaged!"

"It could be damaged when you're wearing it, too!" B'Elanna growled back, much louder this time.

The captain swiftly intervened to defuse the rapidly escalating dialogue between B'Elanna and the EMH. "Now, now, there's no need to argue here. I understand your desire to be cautious about how much to tell Nanny about herself, Doctor, but I wish you'd reconsider. She's not an ordinary holographic representation like Naomi's classmates. If there's an attack, she needs to be able to protect Naomi. For that, she must be fully cognizant of her own limitations, don't you agree?" 

With a self-satisfied smile, B'Elanna crossed her arms, resting them upon the shelf of her protruding belly. "We've been trying to tell the Doctor that since we began, Captain. Nanny may be programmed with all the knowledge a child needs to learn, but I'm not too sure if her personality matrix will remain stable if she doesn't know what she really is."

"I assure you, Lieutenant, I thoroughly researched everything that was incorporated into her program. I made sure to include ALL kinds of governesses and teachers available from the data banks. From Maria Von Trapp to Mary Poppins. Henry Higgins to Mr. Rogers. Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Indiana Jones, Anne Sullivan Macy, Josephine March Bhaer, M'Gatlh, Anne Shirley, Captain Kangaroo, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Lucille Davenport, Anna Leonowens, Socrates . . . "

"You didn't put in the one from 'The Turn of the Screw,' did you, Doc?" Tom asked.

"The problem governesses like that one have been edited or deleted." The Doctor smiled beatifically as he turned his attention back to his new protégée. She had finished circuiting the room with Naomi and was speaking briefly with Samantha Wildman and Neelix.

"Glad to hear that," Tom replied.

"I still think you should have included the Flotter and Trevis stories, Doctor. They're really fun and part of just about every kid's experiences back home on Earth. Naomi should get a chance to learn from them, too," Harry commented. 

"There's plenty of time for that, Mr. Kim. For now, Naomi will have the benefit of the best purveyors of education our data base can provide. Later on, she'll be exposed to the advanced logic of Vulcan philosophers, the . . . "

"I'm sure you've done your usual thorough job, Doctor. Please think about that self-awareness element, however. I'd prefer she knew."

"Captain, really . . ."

Any further discussion of the matter was curtailed by the approach of the holoprogram in question and her young charge. The captain asked Naomi, "Are you all ready for your first day in school, Naomi?"

"Yes, Captain. Miss Nanny is nice."

Samantha shook her head. "I can hardly believe this day is here already. Only a few months ago she was running around grabbing things off tables before Tom and B'Elanna's wedding. And now look at how she's sprouted! She's going to school!"

"She's such a big girl. You must be very proud, Ensign Wildman," said Nanny, smiling broadly. "I can't wait for tomorrow when you can stay all morning for class. We're going to have lots of fun."

Naomi nodded her head. Taking her mother's hand but keeping as wide a berth from Seven as possible, Naomi walked out of the schoolroom, waving goodbye to Miss Nanny and the rest of the crew--except for Seven, whom she ignored.

After the mother and her child left, Neelix bubbled, "Isn't she wonderful? You're going to find she's the smartest little girl you ever taught." Realizing what he'd just said, Neelix added, "I mean, uh . . . "

"Oh, I'm sure she will be," Nanny said. "I'm looking forward to working with all of the children here. And the ones who will soon be here, too, of course." She smiled smugly at B'Elanna. "And when is your baby due, Lieutenant Torres?"

"In about two, maybe two and a half months," B'Elanna answered, grabbing the bottom front corners of her Engineering smock and giving it a tug before whipping her head around towards her husband, who had mumbled something simultaneously with his wife.

Tom's comment: "Not soon enough, Nanny. Not soon enough." 

"Not soon enough for WHAT?" B'Elanna demanded to know.

"Oh, nothing," Tom grinned weakly, rubbing the arm that had just been jabbed by his irritated half-Klingon bride.

B'Elanna stared at Tom a moment more before turning back to the captain. "I need to get back to Engineering--assuming everything is set here for tomorrow?"

Everyone agreed, all was set. After the captain's dismissal, B'Elanna and Tom left the storage area, Tom muttering something about pregnancy hormones under his breath. Harry excused himself, too. Neelix moved off to listen to Nanny's lecture about the characteristics of the animals pictured on the walls. After the EMH began following them around the room, observing them with a proud smile on his countenance, Captain Janeway was left with Seven of Nine, the woman who had been severed from the Borg Collective some months before. Severed, but not yet back to being totally human, not by a very wide margin. Her intent observation of young Naomi had not escaped the captain's notice.

"You seem quite interested in our youngest crew member, Seven."

"I have not had a previous opportunity to evaluate such a young child. The Borg educate newly assimilated children by putting them in maturation chambers. It is a far more efficient method of providing factual data to the young than this . . . classroom." 

"Perhaps. Even on a non-Borg vessel, computer programs can educate a child at their own individual pace, but learning facts isn't the only reason for schooling. "

"I fail to see why these individual computer programs are not sufficient for this child, if they are available."

"That's not the purpose of this program. Naomi will receive many lessons directly from the computer. Her afternoon lessons will be given to her that way. But she also needs to learn how to function in society, with other children. The only way we can do that here is by the use of holographic programming, since she's the only child on board. Yet."

"The child Lieutenant Torres has conceived by Lieutenant Paris will also require educational programming."

"Yes, and social skills training. And I'm thinking she's not the only one." Captain Janeway looked speculatively at Seven of Nine again. "You were assimilated at age six, weren't you?"

"I was."

"In some ways, you're very like Naomi."

"That opinion is not supported by fact. I am Borg, and an adult. She is a half-human, half-Ktarian child. We are not at all alike."

"Now that you say that, I would have to agree. Naomi is clearly your superior in social skills, even though she is much younger than you are."

Seven regarded the captain coldly. "Explain."

"You haven't had the opportunity to learn how to interact with other people in social settings any more than you've had a chance to observe young children. I've attempted to help you learn social interaction with recreational programs on the holodeck, but you've resisted much of what I've tried to teach you."

"What you have presented there is irrelevant. If I perform my duties in Astrometrics efficiently, I have no need to interact socially with other crew members."

"No, Seven, that's an incorrect assumption. You may be able to perform your job functions efficiently, but interacting appropriately with the rest of the crew is also essential. Unpredictable things happen on a Starfleet vessel. 'Weird is part of the job,' I once told Mr. Kim, and it's vital for you to understand that. For truly efficient functioning, everyone on Voyager must learn how to work with every other so that in an emergency, we're able to count on each other without even thinking about it. It's a skill like any other, just as easily learned--and far more enjoyably--in recreational activities. Or in a setting like this one. A classroom."

Seven stared again at the captain for several seconds before saying, "Since I am not a child, it would be inappropriate to learn in a classroom. Students are children."

"Oh, it's never too late to learn," Neelix commented, as his tour of the classroom ended next to where the captain and Seven were conversing. "I'm a perfect example of that. I'm constantly learning new things on Voyager."

The EMH added, "Mr. Neelix is correct, Seven. Many people who attend classes at universities are adults who have decided to change professions, and some merely wish to acquire knowledge for its own sake after their primary careers are done. Why, despite the very complete programming provided to me by Dr. Zimmerman, once I was activated I learned there was much more to living than merely performing my duties. I developed interests and hobbies, such as studying opera; and professionally, I found I had much to learn about subjects such as 'bedside manner.' Some of it came from Mr. Paris, unfortunately, but we can't always choose our sources. Our sources choose . . . "

"Yes, thank you, Doctor," interrupted the captain. Tom bashing had become something of a habit with the EMH, which the captain tolerated only because she doubted he meant it. Turning back to Seven, she said, "The Doctor and Neelix are quite right, Seven. While we can't always control the way we learn information, when we are able to, we should seize the opportunity. This may be the perfect place for you to learn a few skills you haven't yet realized you need. Nanny, would you mind if I assigned Seven of Nine as an assistant to you? She has an amazing store of knowledge in her brain from her time with the Borg that will supplement your . . . um . . . your extensive training in education."

"That would be wonderful, Captain. I look forward to working with her. Shall we spend some time this afternoon comparing notes about lesson planning, Seven of Nine?"

The Borg woman's expression became somewhat twisted about the mouth as she said, "I must return to Astrometrics to complete my unfinished assignments there first."

As Seven turned to go, Janeway said pointedly, "You will appear here again tomorrow at 0800 hours for your teacher's assistant assignment, however, Seven."

Seven halted on her heels and looked back over her shoulder at the captain. After a brief hesitation, she responded, "I will comply."

"Good. Dismissed."

The captain excused herself a moment later. As she was leaving the classroom, she stifled a smile as she heard Nanny say, "I'm delighted to have Seven as an assistant, Doctor. I could use additional information about the education of Klingon students. I haven't any personal experience tutoring them. I'd like your advice about that, too. Perhaps we could meet over dinner to discuss this, and some other matters . . ."

Once in the corridor, Janeway allowed herself a throaty chuckle. This was going to be a most interesting experiment.

=^=

At precisely 0755, Seven entered the schoolroom on Deck Five. Had anyone dared to ask her how she felt (and if she had been willing to answer), she would have admitted to feeling a certain amount of apprehension at being assigned to the ship's classroom. Today was the first time Seven would be present at a class when any student other than herself was in attendance. 

When she had lived with her parents on The Raven, Annika Hansen had rarely encountered other children. Except for the occasional Deep Space Station stop or even less frequent planetfall, the family had been cut off from any other humans for prolonged periods of time. Her parents preferred it that way. They wanted no interference with their work, especially from Federation officials who might inquire about the nature of their experiments in advanced propulsion systems. 

Their work with propulsion systems was so advanced, in fact, that upon the spectacular success of one of their experiments, they would quite literally leave their fellow theoreticians of the Alpha Quadrant far behind in the interstellar dust. Their experimentation ended in the Delta Quadrant when Annika was six years old. End was the appropriate term, for their lives as individual entities would cease as well. To the great misfortune of the Hansens, their successful flight would attract the attention of a race as yet unknown to the rest of the Alpha Quadrant. 

The Borg could recognize advanced technological achievement when they saw it. The technological distinctiveness contained within the brains of the Hansen family was quickly added to that of the Borg--very much against the Hansen family's will.

While her parents immediately became drones, such was not the case with the daughter. For the next twenty-one cycles, all of young Annika Hansen's needs would be provided within the confines of maturation chamber 12805600473. Until she attained sufficient growth for permanent implants to be installed, the future drone was attached by a neural transceiver to the rest of the Hive. 

During this time of physical transformation from child to adult, the knowledge gained by the rest of the Borg was fed to her via neural link. She even "participated" in the assimilations of other races cybernetically, although her immature humanoid body was divorced from the physical process, housed as it was in the maturation chamber. Her youthful consciousness had been present at the birth of every new drone to join their cube. She was fully aware of every terrified individual who was absorbed into the vast conglomerate entity that was the Borg, even though she was not yet Seven of Nine. Only when a fully grown Annika stepped out of her chamber to have her left arm fitted with a prosthetic, her left eyeball roughly popped out and replaced by an ocular implant, and the full complement of Borg circuitry installed within her was Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero-One, truly born.

Thus, Seven's entire education had taken place via some form of cybernetic link. She had never had access to other children with whom to interact--for most of the time, no other people at all. Only during those rare times in her early childhood, when her mother or father could spare the time from research to join her at the computer screen for a learning game or two, had she even had company. 

Seven was perceptive enough to note the supreme irony of the day. The teacher and eight of the nine students scheduled to be present in the schoolroom on this first day of school were also cybernetic in nature. It was the one who was not cybernetic, the three-year old human/Ktarian child, who single-handedly transformed this into an entirely new experience for Seven of Nine.

After leaving Astrometrics the previous evening, Seven had spent precisely forty-three standard minutes obtaining a nutritional supplement in the mess hall. Six hours and twenty-two minutes had been required for regeneration. Forty-seven minutes had been allotted to a visit to the schoolroom to consult with Nanny about lesson plans for the students (all holographic) which Seven was assigned to teach. The remaining hours and minutes had been passed in front of her computer screen in Cargo Bay Two, accessing Voyager's data banks and absorbing all she could concerning classrooms, educational philosophies, and instructional techniques within the time available. Because of her eidetic memory, what Seven perused in the files, Seven remembered. 

It did not matter. Seven was still terrified she would fail. 

No one must know a Borg--or former Borg, to be more accurate--was terrified of failure. So, Seven of Nine walked into the classroom, shoulders thrown back, bosom thrust out, abdominal muscles sucked into supporting her rigidly upright posture. Confidence and Borg were to be synonymous, if Seven had any control over the matter.

The first eyes to light upon her were the dark brown, fierce orbs of Larg and K'Kath. Jeffrey turned his head in her direction a moment later. The pupils of all three males immediately dilated. One trait shared by Klingon and human alike was that visible sign of sexual arousal. Seven stared coldly at them to dissuade them from making any comment to her. The males, after several more seconds of staring, turned away from her and resumed the conversation that had been interrupted by her entrance. 

In another corner, two younger children were present. Seven estimated that these two females were both equivalent to seven or eight-year old humans. One, in appearance, was all human. The other was a Klingon female. These were holographic representations, just as Jeffrey, Larg, and K'Kath were. 

When Seven moved farther into the room, three other children materialized behind her. One was a Ktarian male, about the same age as the two female holographic children. The other two were female teenagers, a Klingon and a human in appearance. Seven observed the three teenage males stand up straighter, preening for the "girls." Seven looked for a third teenage female to appear, but none did. The lack of another girl meant that this program contained the potential for a significant amount of adolescent hormone-induced rivalry among the males. Seven wondered if she should blame Mr. Paris or the Doctor for this particular development in the program. 

A moment later, Nanny shimmered into existence. "Seven!" she called out. "Welcome! It's good to see you. And who do we have here?"

Clinging to the hand of her mother, Naomi Wildman, the intended beneficiary of this holographic wizardry, walked into the classroom to begin her first day of this most seminal of experiences--for her, and for Seven of Nine.

=^=

It had been a long first day for Seven. Although Jeffrey and his Klingon friends acted like Klingons, as expected, Nanny did quite well controlling their more rambunctious behavior during the classes held jointly for all the children, regardless of age. Most of the time, however, Nanny stayed with Naomi and the youngest three holochildren. Seven was in charge of the teenagers.

"Have you completed your exercises in the differential analysis of quantum particles, Larg?" Seven asked pointedly when the holographic Klingon's lack of attention to task became particularly noticeable. 

"Yes, Miss Nine," he replied. Nanny had insisted Seven be called that, despite the Borg's protests, citing the need to maintain the "necessary degree of classroom decorum."

"There is a substantial error in the results of the fourth problem which would be catastrophic if you were to utilize these calculations in a practical application. Can you find it?" Seven countered severely, after a quick perusal of his PADD.

"I will," he growled angrily.

"If you spent less time contemplating my mammary tissues and more examining the problem at hand, you would meet with more success," Seven stated emphatically to the deflated Larg, as guffaws issued from K'Kath and Jeffrey. Fixing the other two males with her intense gaze, Seven added, "From the degree of pupil dilation both of you exhibit, I surmise your work may be similarly marred by excessive amounts of time wasted staring at my torso. Would you care to show me your PADDs so that I may test this hypothesis?" 

K'Kath and Jeffrey both decided their own PADDs needed a bit more work before any hypotheses were tested. The accompanying tittering from the female teenagers was just as quickly quelled by another severe stare from Seven. Afterwards, Seven noted that the exchange had achieved the desired effect of improving the concentration of all five holographic adolescents for the remainder of the lesson. This was to hold for subsequent lessons as well. Whenever her anatomy came to be subject to the regard of the male students, a tilted eyebrow was generally sufficient to return them to the task at hand. 

=^=

During the following days, whenever the older students' attention was directed to independent learning activities at the computer, or if the production of research projects required the students to interact among themselves rather than with their teacher, Seven spent her free time observing "Miss Nanny's" handling of Naomi and her young classmates. She found it instructive, finding many of the techniques equally applicable to the older students.

One morning, several days after the first day of school, Seven required that her charges produce individually prepared documents to evaluate their absorption of material covered in the lesson concerned with Klingon cultural traditions (the data base had called this type of document a "pop quiz"). With the students engaged on their assignment, Seven was permitted a badly needed "breather," as Nanny had described it during a lesson planning session the previous day. It also afforded Seven another opportunity to watch Nanny working with Naomi and the other three students. Every time a particularly challenging question was answered, Naomi or her classmate received a warm hug from Miss Nanny along with a cheery, "Good job."

//Nanny's personality is well suited to teaching younger children, but hugs would not be a successful technique for me to use with Larg,// thought Seven, her lips twitching slightly to one side. Nanny chose that moment to look in Seven's direction, smiling broadly at her. Seven acknowledged her smile with a nod.

Another head turned around to look in Seven's direction. After a shudder, Naomi turned away. "Naomi, what's wrong?" asked Nanny.

"I don't want to be assimilated by the Borg Lady," Naomi whispered, loudly enough for Seven's aural implant to catch the message.

"Oh, Naomi, Seven isn't going to assimilate you. She's one of us now. It's like we're all part of the Voyager Collective, isn't it, Seven?"

Seven nodded her head. "That is an accurate assessment. While I had not considered such a view of the Voyager crew previously, we do function together much like a Collective." Seven forbore to mention the rest of what came into her mind. //Only in a much less efficient manner than the Borg.//

Naomi shuffled her feet but said nothing. Nanny admonished, "Naomi, you don't have to worry about Seven, you understand that, don't you?"

The child shrugged her shoulders, but her eyes did not leave the floor. At Nanny's sigh, Seven walked back to supervise the teenaged contingent, whose restlessness signaled that the pop quizzes had been completed.

While the quizzes were reviewed and the next topic of discussion undertaken, Seven had no opportunity to think about what had transpired between Naomi and herself. That afternoon, while completing her regular work in Astrometrics, the subject never occurred to her, either. Later, however, when she was alone in her alcove, preparing herself for her regeneration cycle, Seven had sufficient time to consider the incident. The child was afraid of Seven, and for some reason, Seven found this to be disturbing.

And she had no idea why.

=^=

". . . so, Seven is turning out to be a surprisingly good teacher. Her ability to maintain discipline is especially notable."

"How interesting, Doctor." The captain bit her lower lip; Seven's ability to maintain iron discipline wasn't exactly a surprise to her.

"It was an inspiration to include her, Captain."

"I'm glad things are working out. I had hoped that Seven would get the opportunity to interact more directly with Naomi, however. Couldn't Nanny allow Seven to teach the younger children upon occasion?"

"Naomi is still somewhat nervous around Seven. It's probably best that Nanny continue with her direct lessons for the time being. They're all together in the same classroom, and as time goes by, I'm sure their paths will cross in a natural way."

"In other words, you're counseling patience," the captain replied, with an off-kilter smile.

"Precisely." The EMH agreed.

"So noted," Janeway said. "Is there anything else you wish to report about our experiment?"

"I'm extremely pleased at the way it's turning out, but there is one tiny little problem. Nanny feels someone is always watching her in class."

"Of course, Doctor. The students are always there to watch her."

"Nanny told me this is someone other than the students."

"Reassure her, Doctor. I'm sure she's subliminally aware of the log cameras recording her. By the way, have you done that bit of reprogramming I suggested?"

"Not yet, Captain. She's not ready."

"I hope we don't run into any problems because of this, Doctor. I'm willing to defer to your judgment for now, but if there's a red alert while Naomi is with her, Nanny has to know she must stay with Naomi, and with Tom and B'Elanna's baby, once she arrives. Seven won't be able to stay. She has her own duty station in Astrometrics during red alerts."

"Don't worry. We've added a new protocol to the program to address your concerns. Both Nanny and Naomi know to go to the designated area between Sickbay and the classroom if there's a red alert. That's the most protected area of the ship, and I can easily check on them from Sickbay to make sure they're all right."

"We'll see how that works during the next shipwide drill--if something real doesn't happen first. Anything else to report? How is your 'new nurse' doing?"

"Trust Mr. Paris to call himself a nurse. Just the sort of flippant comment he's always making during his duty shifts in Sickbay."

"He's not working out, then?" Janeway asked, a wrinkle of worry appearing between her brows.

"Oh, no, I don't mean to imply that, Captain. He's actually coming along . . . adequately. He's shown a special aptitude for gynecology and obstetrics--no surprise there."

Janeway laughed. "That's Tom. If he's interested in a subject, there's no better student. And I guess we can't fault him if that's a subject that's been on his mind a lot lately."

"Hmm. That subject seems to have been on his mind as long as I've known him. Be that as it may, he has absorbed the essentials of the childbirth process and has been a great help to B'Elanna during her labor and delivery exercise classes. He should manage to be a help, not a hindrance, when her time finally comes."

"Glad to hear that, Doctor."

"Oh, and Captain? Please don't tell him I complimented him. Too much praise and I fear Mr. Paris will believe he won't require any more instruction. He needs to spend a lot more time absorbing the material to be as excellent an assistant as Kes." 

An awkward, silent moment passed. Kes. She hadn't been much in Janeway's thoughts for many weeks. So much had happened. A transwarp experiment had gone bad, throwing the ship almost ten years journey forward, well out of Borg territory, but almost killing Tom and B'Elanna in the process. Seven's temporary regression into Borgdom had thrown the crew into an uproar when she stole away in a shuttle and discovered the wreck of her parents' ship, The Raven. Aliens had tortured the crew with an array of medical conditions and cost the life of Ensign Mallon, all in the name of research. 

So much had gone on lately, it was difficult to just sit back and "smell the coffee." There was seldom time to consider where they'd been because of the need to face the crisis of the week. Add to that the amount of guidance and attention Seven needed at virtually every turn, and it was no wonder the captain had barely thought of Kes for far too long, even though Janeway missed the gentle and lovely Ocampa woman terribly.

The captain sighed deeply, then caught the look on the holographic physician's face. His expression mirrored hers. Once again Janeway marveled that a hologram could have developed such a vivid and full personality.

"Thank you for your report, Doctor. And think about Nanny's program. Just look how much you've evolved since you first came on line. Doesn't Nanny have the right to enrich her own personality, too?"

"Don't you think Nanny has enough personality, Captain? If you don't, we could do some more research and . . ."

"You've done a marvelous job creating Nanny; that's not what I meant. Now she needs to have a chance to discover her own self, Doctor, just as you have."

"I don't want her to be hurt, Captain."

"Being hurt is inevitable. All beings experience pain. Isn't it one of the things that helps one grow and mature?"

The Doctor reluctantly shrugged his shoulders. "I think there's plenty of time for that, Captain. There isn't any hurry."

"I'll defer to your professional judgment--for now. We'll give her a little more time to settle in."

"Thank you, Captain. If we're done here . . ."

"Of course. Dismissed."

As the EMH walked out of the door of her ready room, freed from the confines of his Sickbay prison by a piece of 29th century technology, Janeway couldn't help thinking about the imperious, sarcastic being who first had inhabited the psyche of the Doctor. 

Becoming virtually a full-time crew member instead of an "extra hand" in a crisis had changed him irrevocably. The EMH's ability to function on the holodeck had permitted him to rescue Harry Kim from a Beowulf program gone awry. He'd experienced compassion and love for Denara Pel, the Vidiian doctor whose life he'd saved. His horizons had been expanded by opera lessons and recreational activities taken with the rest of the crew. He'd accepted the responsibility of family life and had, in the process, been taught the passionate fulfillment of marital love, the joys of parenthood, and the tragedy of loss. Thanks to the acquisition of his mobile transmitter, he'd been able to successfully complete away missions. In every conceivable arena, the EMH had exceeded all expectations about what a hologram could accomplish.

Now here was Nanny, imprisoned in a pleasant holoemitter-equipped classroom/prison of her own. Her existence was as limited as that of any other holographic character on the holodeck, despite the potential for growth inherent in her sophisticated holomatrix. What a waste!

//He's being rather overprotective of his holographic protégée,// thought the captain with a sigh. //Much too overprotective! Hopefully, Nanny will get a chance to experience growth of her own, for her sake, as well as for the Doctor's. He needs the company!//

=^=

From the moment she stepped out of her regeneration alcove each morning, her days were full. Classes in the morning. A quick meal in the mess hall. Afternoons and early evenings in Astrometrics, broken up by another ingestion of nutritional supplements. Study of Voyager's data base before slipping into her alcove to regenerate for a few hours before the cycle began all over again. 

In truth, Seven appreciated her busy schedule. Routines were comforting to one who had lived as a Borg. Despite her many and varied tasks, there was plenty of time for her to meditate about what was transpiring around her. Behind her seemingly impassive humanoid forehead, the agile brain of Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero-One, was always cogitating.

Most of the time, these thoughts were hers alone, unshared with any other being. Captain Janeway or Commander Tuvok sometimes sought her out to find out what she was thinking. Ensign Kim was frequently assigned to tasks with Seven, and she found his intelligent conversation bearable. Neelix and Lieutenant Paris occasionally asked her how she was feeling, and she would reply, succinctly and efficiently.

And then there was Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres. Voyager's chief engineer made it clear she found Seven of Nine to be a constant irritant. When forced to cooperate on a project, as they had with the programming of the holographic teacher's holomatrix, they managed to complete their tasks with only a bare minimum of sarcastic remarks on Seven's part. Lieutenant Torres was quite able to utter sufficient sarcastic remarks for both of them.

Although Seven would never divulge it to her, there was one aspect of her contacts with Lieutenant Torres that intrigued Seven. The chief engineer's burgeoning form supplied an abundance of topics of inquiry. What was it like to have another being inside your body, yet have no actual neurological link with it--or her, since the child growing inside Lieutenant Torres was of the female gender? Lieutenant Paris mentioned once that the child moved inside the uterus. What would that feel like? 

Since the engineer's bare tolerance of "that Borg" was so obvious, Seven did not ask many of the questions she wished to ask about this most basic of bodily functions, even though, in this instance, the information in Voyager's data base was inadequate for what Seven wished to know.

The chain of life was a profound concept. The child gestating within Lieutenant Torres was merely a repetition of what had occurred previously when Lieutenant Torres grew within her own mother. Seven had been carried within her own mother's body. It had occurred with every other biological being on Voyager, with only minor variations. When she was Borg, Seven had been fully cognizant of the process, of course, but to see it in operation at close hand was compelling. Whenever she was alone in her alcove, regenerating or merely resting, contemplating the ramifications of single-cell reproduction occupied a fair amount of Seven's time. It seemed so different from Borg reproduction, yet was it, really? 

The Borg assimilated already created beings. It was more efficient that way. Since those beings had been conceived, gestated, and birthed in the manner of the races that were later assimilated by the Borg, however, the Borg ultimately depended upon the same, old-fashioned, single-cell fertilization process. The Borg simply allowed others to complete this first step for them. If the Borg truly succeeded in their goal of assimilating all the races whose technology they desired, and there were no more assimilatable beings for the completion of the Borg reproductive cycle, would the biological components of the Collective eventually wear out, dooming the Hive to the assimilation of inferior species--or extinction?

Perfection might be even more impossible to achieve than Seven thought.

Contemplating gestation also meant contemplating conception and its precursor, courtship.

Now that she was no longer linked to the Collective, single-cell fertilization could become relevant to her personally. Inevitably, Seven found herself considering which males on Voyager would meet her specifications for DNA of sufficient quality to contribute to the creation of a child of her own, should Seven ever decide to reproduce, of course. Only those males who could meet her specifications would be appropriate candidates for the performing of the various courtship rituals she had studied--including those that were on view before her every day in the schoolroom. 

After spending a significant amount of time evaluating her choices, she found there were few who were suitable, and some of these, such as Mr. Paris, were unavailable. (The idea that Lieutenant Torres would consider sharing him with Seven was obviously out of the question.) Of those who were available, the one whose qualities seemed the best match for Seven of Nine was Ensign Kim.

Seven knew the story of Ensign Kim's late wife Kes, although she had barely gotten a chance to meet the Ocampan woman before the latter was transformed into a non-corporeal being. Because Kes' expected life span of nine years had been truncated to less than four, her desire to perpetuate her memory on this corporeal plane of existence by leaving behind children with whom her husband could share his life had been thwarted. 

Even Seven, with her meager experience of humanoid emotions, could see that this was a source of great sorrow for Ensign Kim. Indeed, of all those who dwelled upon Voyager, Ensign Kim was one of the few whose pupils did not dilate when Seven's body came within view. He was still undergoing the process of mourning, as the captain and the Doctor had explained to her. Mr. Kim was always polite and helpful, though--almost suffocatingly so at times. He was always trying to teach her social conventions, just as the Doctor and the captain were; but somehow, his lessons engendered a much different reaction in Seven of Nine than those provided by the Doctor and Captain Janeway. 

By studying her students, Seven realized what it was. Hormones. Her own body was responding to Ensign Kim's presence by producing an overabundance of female reproductive hormones. 

Although it had become much more surreptitious in execution, Jeffrey, K'Kath, and Larg continued to evince interest in her body. Seven noticed them regarding the two teenaged girls, who whispered to each other or giggled annoyingly, in a similar fashion. At such times, blood flushed all five teenaged faces. Their widely opened eyes began to shine brightly. When she consulted the Doctor about it, he curtly dismissed the topic. "Hormones. Reproductive hormones, to be precise. Just ignore them. They'll work it all out on their own if you let them." Because the equation of three into two did not result in a whole number, however, Seven felt the numbers did not promise so easy a resolution.

A quick examination of the parameters of the schoolroom program, which had not been her area of responsibility in the preparation of the program, showed that initially, Nanny was to provide the education for both groups of students. There were supposed to be three females and three males in the older group, apparently so that Naomi could be exposed both to beings from differing cultural backgrounds as well as to the ways adolescents interacted, to prepare her for the days when her own hormone levels increased dramatically and erratically during puberty, as the process was described in the database. 

Seven's inclusion as an aide in the classroom had created unexpected repercussions. Apparently Seven had been interpreted by the program as the third "adolescent" female, an uncomfortable situation for Seven. This appeared to be what Mr. Paris referred to as a "glitch" in the program. Seven resolved to speak to him about it when she had the chance.

Increased hormonal activity seemed to have prompted her unfortunate reactions to Ensign Kim whenever he tried to assist her in adjusting to being a member of Voyager's crew complement.

The most serious repercussion from observing the social interactions on board Voyager, however, was that Seven of Nine began to experience visions, many of them similar to those she had experienced when she'd fled to The Raven's wreckage. Incidents from her life before her assimilation emerged into her consciousness. Feelings were reawakened as the memories were awakened: 

Hugs from her parents, flooding her with the sense of being loved, and loving them back in return. 

Happiness at receiving praise from them, when she'd completed her lessons well, or if she'd been a very good girl when she'd visited a planet and quietly listened while her parents talked with people who knew many very important things they needed to learn.

Warm feelings of acceptance, when she remembered the station master who thought her such a smart, clever little girl--so smart that he gave her the most beautiful red flowers twisted into a coronet to rest upon her brow. "They look so pretty on your golden hair." The station master had said that. She remembered it vividly.

Excitement, when the very important invention Daddy was working on worked so well! So well! "Can you believe how far we've gone! The conduit theory is right! We will revolutionize warp theory! Travel across the galaxy will be possible! Those Federation scientists don't have a clue, do they, Annika?"

So many strange things that she hadn't understood at the time, although somehow, on some level, she understood what her parents had accomplished--and what the Borg had stolen from them.

Stolen from her parents. What a strange thing to think about. All the Borg owned everything together. How could anything be stolen from one Borg to be given to another?

But wait. Something could be taken from you by the Borg, if you were not yet one of them.

Agonizing fear. Fright, terror, welling up from her psyche as she remembered racing down a corridor, tall black-clad men walking past her as her mother and father screamed at her to run, run away. "Hide, Annika!" Hide away. 

Hiding, until the tall black-clad men found her, and yanked her out of her hiding place, and locked her away in a tiny cubicle, with only the voices in her head for company. All the voices, none of them familiar. None of them Mommy and Daddy, not really.

Only the strange, faint echo of their voices, in her mind? Or buried in with the other voices? Annika Hansen never could be sure if she'd ever heard them again or not. She only knew that she was alone, in the dark, hidden away for such a long time, with no arms to hug her, no voice to praise her, and no hands to hand her a gift of red flowers, plaited into a crown to rest on her hair.

But in that lonely dark place, the voices were always there. Whispering at her. Shouting at her. Screaming in terror at her.

And then, one day, when the dark lonely chrysalis had become too small a space for her to inhabit without pain, Annika had emerged and been transformed into Seven of Nine. Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero-One. A drone, one of the mighty Borg, whose individual existence mattered not, dedicated as each must be to the advancement of the Borg Collective itself. Individual components had no importance. Only the Hive did.

She remembered something about that time. Feelings. Strange feelings. Angry feelings. Seven of Nine found herself feeling rage, directed towards her own people. The Borg.

Why should she feel that way? Were Naomi's fears about Borg assimilation infecting Seven?

Or was she feeling this way because of her contact with the hormone-flooded youths who confronted her each day? 

As Seven stood alone in her alcove at the end of the day, she thought about the child she had been, who had never existed in a classroom such as the one created for Naomi. She thought about the students she saw every day, who interacted with one another and learned things in an open room--a place where the computer screen was in front of your body instead of attached to your skull; where every discovery was an individual achievement, capable of engendering great pleasure from the accomplishment of a goal, not simply a tiny, insignificant bit of data acquired by a collective consciousness. 

If things had been different, she might have been one of these students who preened and ogled and flirted with each other, instead of the one boxed away until she was ready to be assigned a niche within the great consciousness of the Borg.

After many nights of such ruminations, Seven realized she did have an inkling about what it had been like to live the childhood that Naomi was living. She had had a chance to experience that herself, for the first six years of her life. What she had no idea of, however, was of later childhood and adolescence. She had lived those years locked away. What would she have been like if she had never become Borg?

On Voyager, when one is curious about something, there is a way to find out if one wishes. A quick lesson from Lieutenant Paris about holodeck programming and some research into the holocharacter data base yielded up a female who had once been part of a program the Doctor still visited. Perhaps a short session with this female holocharacter concerning aspects of adolescent behavior might permit Seven of Nine to begin a journey into what might have been. 

=^=

"Oh, hello, Lieutenant Paris. How are you today?"

"I'm fine, Nanny."

"And how is your lovely wife doing?" 

Tom looked up from the tray of instruments that the EMH had set him to sorting. "B'Elanna's doing great, too. Thanks for asking. "

"Good. Excellent." The hologram hovered expectantly in the doorway connecting Sickbay to the schoolroom. 

"Is there something I can help you with, Nanny? Anybody need any 'doctoring'?"

"Oh, no. Everything's fine. The children are all on their way home. Miss Nine is off taking care of her astrometrical duties. I was just, uh . . . wondering . . . is the Doctor free at the moment?"

Tom suppressed a smile. "He's due back any minute. He had something to take care of on the holodeck."

"Ah. I see. Let him know I was asking after him."

"I will, Nan . . ."

Before Tom could finish his reply, the EMH swept into Sickbay, calling out cheerily, "Hello, there! Is there something I can do for you? Any bumps and bruises from our rambunctious charges in school?"

Nanny giggled and repeated what she'd told Tom. ". . . but what I really need is a little of your guidance, Doctor. With such a wide gap in ages, planning lessons for the entire group can be quite challenging. I wanted to run some of my recent ideas by you, to see what you think. Over dinner, perhaps?" Tom rolled his eyes. That was as bad as a lot of the lines he used to use, before B'Elanna. Maybe he even used something like it on B'Elanna. Unsuccessfully.

The Doctor walked into his office to consult his schedule before replying, "I don't think I'm free tonight."

"Another time then, Lord Burleigh?"

"Pardon?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I know you prefer to be called by your title . . . Doctor." 

"Yes, of course I do," huffed the Doctor, looking perplexed.

"Well, I guess I'll be off then. I don't want to overstay my welcome. I want to remain on good terms with my employer! There are already so many dangerous situations and people about, if you know what I mean." Nanny looked over her shoulder furtively, as if someone was lurking behind her.

"Dangerous people lurking about? I don't believe so, Nanny." The Doctor smiled to reassure her.

"If only that were true! There's always someone watching out to take advantage of you! I know! But as long as you keep watching out for me, I'm sure it will all turn out well." Nanny leaned close and fluttered her eyelashes at the EMH. "And if there's anything you want to tell me," her voice got lower, more seductive, ". . . or anything you want me to do, Lord Burl . . . I mean, Doctor . . . you let me know, now! Toodle-oo!" With a sudden happy chirp and a quick gargoyle of a smile, Nanny skipped back into her own area.

Tom had ceased his sorting to watch this unexpected wrinkle in the program develop. While Tom knew he should know who Lord Burly was, he couldn't place him just then. One thing he did know: Nanny shouldn't be calling the Doctor Lord Burly, not to mention fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Tom's reverie was interrupted by the Doctor's casual, "You may pick your mandible up off the floor, Mr. Paris. This is nothing new. Nanny's been pestering me 'to stay on good terms' by 'going to tea' or 'having dinner' with her all week."

Concerned though he was, Tom couldn't help grinning. "You're the one who didn't want to let her know that for her dinner, is optional. Sounds like 'just desserts' to me."

"Hrumph."

"Does she always call you Lord Burly?"

"Not always. The last couple of days it's happened a bit more often. Why?"

"I was just wondering. It wasn't anything I programmed her to do. Did you add it in?"

"No."

"I don't recall putting that flirtatiousness into her program, either. Must be you, Doc. If she thinks of you as her 'lord and master,' you must've made a conquest."

The Doctor glared with narrowed eyes at his assistant.

In a conciliatory tone of voice Tom added, "But you know, Doc, it's not surprising she wants a little more attention. Seven isn't exactly the greatest company for Nanny. I think our teacher gets pretty lonely in there until the program hits the automatic shut off point each afternoon."

"You don't have to tell me about how lonely it can be for a hologram, Mr. Paris."

A smile that never quite reached Tom's eyes flickered over his face, as he answered in an even softer tone of voice, "No, I guess I don't."

They held each other's gaze for a moment before Tom said, "And I guess I'd better get back to work."

"That would be a refreshing change." 

=^=

"You'll never guess what program she's in, B'Elanna. It's Neelix's Resort!" chortled Harry in amazement.

"Seven? In the Resort? Alone? Are you sure? Computer, which crew members are currently on Holodeck Two?"

::::Seven of Nine is the only crew member present on Holodeck Two:::: replied the calm female voice.

Harry and B'Elanna exchanged bemused glances. "B'Elanna, maybe we should signal her first. Seven is off-duty. Our question about the Astrometrics power relays isn't so vital that it can't wait a little while."

"Aren't you at all curious to see what sorts of activities in the Resort our Miss Nine would find 'relevant'? Maybe she's assimilating the waiters. And this is an open program; she'd better not be having an orgy in there when just anybody could waltz in on her."

"B'Elanna . . ." cautioned Harry, even as the arch opened to admit them, on B'Elanna's command. 

Initially, nothing seemed out of the ordinary--certainly, nothing suggestive of an orgy. The holographic waiters and dancers were moving around purposefully, setting up for the influx of visitors expected during and after dinnertime. Harry and B'Elanna had to move well into the program before they caught sight of Seven. She was sitting in one of the far booths which overlooked the Resort's beach. 

Seven was not alone. A blonde-haired girl who looked to be in her early teens was sitting with her. The girl was chatting animatedly to an entranced Seven. It crossed Harry's mind that "lecturing to" the woman who had once been Borg might be a more accurate description, for Seven spoke only a few words during the time that Harry and B'Elanna were observing them from across the room.

Involved as he was in watching the two in the booth, Harry did not notice his companion stiffen in shock. When B'Elanna suddenly moved across the room as fast as her pregnancy-swollen body would permit, however, Harry hastened to follow. It was only when they reached the booth and B'Elanna faced him that Harry realized the chief engineer's face was flushed with rage. "How dare you!" B'Elanna hissed. "Of all the characters to use, how dare you use this one!" 

"Computer, freeze program," Seven stated calmly. The teenager froze obligingly, her surprised face uptilted towards B'Elanna. "Lieutenant Torres, why do you object to my utilization of this character? Her template was in the data banks for general use, was it not?"

"No, she was not for general use! No one's used her since the Doctor did!"

"B'Elanna, I don't see what your problem is about this either."

"Harry, don't you know who this is? It's Belle!"

Harry's eyes flashed down to the still face of the girl. Belle, the Doctor's daughter from his family program. Now he knew her. With chagrin, Harry replied, "No, B'Elanna. I didn't recognize her. I think you and Kes were the only ones to see her alive. The rest of us only saw her at the memorial service."

"Kes and I--and the Doctor! How do you think he'd feel if he saw her memory being desecrated in this way?"

"Lieutenant Torres, the Doctor is a hologram. Why do you speak of his 'feelings'?"

B'Elanna turned back to Seven with both fists clenched and shaking with rage. "That shows just how little you know about him! Yes, he has feelings! And for you to . . ."

Harry quickly slipped between Seven and B'Elanna, grabbing the half-Klingon's upper arms to steady her and block her from doing something she might regret later--or worse, might not regret. "B'Elanna, you've got to calm yourself. It can't be good for the baby for you to get so worked up over this."

"Leave my baby out of this, Harry Kim," she growled through clenched teeth.

"I think you're a little too close to the situation to be objective. Let me talk to Seven about this, all right?"

B'Elanna seethed in righteous indignation, but Harry's message seemed to be getting through. After taking a deep, calming breath, B'Elanna replied, "Okay, Harry. I'll go back to Engineering. But you straighten out the Borg about this. I don't want the Doctor blundering in here and getting upset. You know how he was at the funeral."

"I know how he was. I'll take care of it. It'll be fine. Really. Just let Captain Janeway know what I'm doing here, okay? My shift won't be over for a few minutes." As Harry's soothing words took effect, B'Elanna nodded briefly before shaking herself out of his hold. After shooting a poisonous glance at Seven, B'Elanna marched off the holodeck as crisply as her baby-filled belly would permit.

Only when B'Elanna was safely through the arch was Harry comfortable enough to return his attention to Seven. She was gazing at him solemnly, not with the belligerence he'd seen from her at other times. The motionless holographic teenager was also still staring at him, as were several of the other frozen holocharacters whose attention must have been captured by B'Elanna's outburst. 

Seven broke the eerie silence by saying, "I fail to see why Lieutenant Torres is so agitated by my choice. Borrowing a character from another program is a common practice, according to Lieutenant Paris."

"Normally, it wouldn't be a problem. This is different." 

"In what way? According to the holodeck logs, the Doctor borrowed her from an earlier program of the captain's. Why shouldn't I be able to utilize this same hologram for my purposes?"

"Seven, this character was the Doctor's daughter. She died in a tragic accident. He almost gave up his family program after it happened. Tom talked the Doctor into carrying it through to the end, to mourn her, just like he would have done in real life. It wasn't easy for the Doctor. It brought him tremendous pain, so nobody's felt comfortable using this character in their programs since that occurred."

"Why wasn't the character deleted from the data banks if she was not to be utilized?"

"I don't know. Maybe it seemed to be a good idea for her to be available in case the Doc wanted to use her again himself. Modify her into another daughter, or something. I'm not sure of the reason; I just know there's been sort of an unspoken agreement by the entire crew not to use her for anything else."

"I was unaware of this. I will find another face for my character. Computer . . . "

Before Seven could delete the character, Harry stopped her. "Wait, before you do that, could you let me in on what you were doing with her?"

"I am merely exploring courtship rituals--to better understand my students' behavior."

"If that's the case, why don't you have a boy in here, too, so you can talk to both and watch them together?"

"I have ample opportunity to watch the boys and girls interacting in the schoolroom. In this program I am obtaining background data about the life of a girl at this stage of her development."

"I see." Harry noted that the usually phlegmatic Borg became considerably less so during this explanation. "Have you programmed a boy to get an idea about what his life is like, too?"

"I have not."

Harry was on the verge of asking her why she wasn't interested in a boy's life at this stage of development when he thought of a better way to find out what was going on. Clearly, there was more to this than Seven had been willing to admit. "Maybe it would be better if you ran a little of the program, so I can understand you better."

"You would not be offended by the use of this holocharacter? The Doctor might enter the holodeck and become upset, if Lieutenant Torres is correct," Seven remarked, her right eyebrow arched. 

"Maybe we can change her a little bit so that wouldn't happen. Computer, change the hair color of . . . what did you say the name of this character is?"

"I did not say. Her name is Belinda."

"Computer, change Belinda's hair color to light red. Make her eyes green. And let's give her a whole bunch of freckles, all over her face." In an eye-blink, the still-motionless girl's coloring was altered. "There, that's better. If the Doc does walk in now, she'll seem like another girl at first glance. You can change her face later. Let's unfreeze her now and continue the conversation B'Elanna and I disrupted."

Seven nodded slowly, and Harry called out, "Computer, resume program."

"Oh, hi!" Belinda said, looking around. "Where's the other lady?"

"She had to leave. I'm Harry."

"Hi, Harry. Are you going to be leaving, too?"

"No, I was going to join Seven and you, if you don't mind."

"Oh, okay." Belinda giggled nervously, flicking a glance at Seven as Harry took a seat next to his crewmate, across from the teenager. 

"Seven, Belinda, can I get you anything? A soda, perhaps?"

At Belinda's eager agreement and Seven's cool assent, Harry called over one of the waiters and ordered two "giant colas" and a medium ginger ale for Seven. Once the drinks had been ordered, Belinda asked, "What are we going to talk about?"

"What you were talking about before. Don't mind me."

Belinda giggled again. "I don't think we should."

"Why not? Is it a big secret?"

"No, it's not a secret. But we were talking about school, music, holodeck programs, and sports. And boyfriends." She giggled again. "I don't think you'd be interested in all that. Boys usually aren't. Well, maybe you wouldn't mind the sports or music part."

"But I'm not a boy anymore, so I am interested in all that. Just forget I'm here and go on the way you were before I got here."

Belinda looked over at Seven for confirmation. Seven responded, "It is acceptable. Continue. Please."

Harry sat back against the bench of the booth and listened. It actually was pretty interesting. He'd never had a sister or brother, and he'd been so serious about his classes at this age that a lot of what Belinda had to say about her daily life was a revelation.

But it wasn't as much of a revelation to him as it seemed to be to Seven. He'd never seen the former Borg so absorbed by anything other than the building of the Astrometrics lab, the project the captain had assigned to Harry and Seven after Kes left Voyager. Busy work, he'd thought at the time, although he'd been grateful enough then to be kept busy. 

As he watched the subtle changes in Seven's expressions now, he decided he was right about one thing. This program's agenda consisted of something more than Seven's desire to learn about teenage courtship rituals, although certainly that was a large part of it. 

After over an hour of the hologram discussing her life with only minimal interruption, mostly requests for clarification from the two adults, Belinda said, "Oh, gee! Look at the time! I've got to go! The parental units will really get sore if I don't get home in time! I don't want to get grounded!"

"Grounded? What is that?" asked Seven quickly.

"I can explain what grounded means," Harry replied, bemused. "I've had experience with that. We don't want to get Belinda in trouble, Seven. She needs to go now." Reluctantly, Seven shrugged her shoulders in agreement.

Belinda jumped out of the booth. "Thanks, Harry. I'll see you again soon, Seven. Bye!" Waving in farewell, she vanished as she headed out of the exit arch.

Once Belinda had disappeared, Harry moved around to take her vacated place in the booth. "About getting grounded?" he said amiably. "That's what happens when you do something wrong and your parents discipline you by taking away all your privileges, like talking to your friends over the Comm system, or going out to sporting events, or going on dates. All the things that Belinda likes to do."

"I see." A shadow crossed Seven's face at this, and Harry wished he felt comfortable enough to ask her why being "grounded" had such obvious resonance for someone who had lived so much of her life as a Borg.

Instead, he asked, "So, did talking to Belinda teach you what you wanted to know about being a teenager?"

"It served its purpose," she said evasively. 

"I, uh, noticed that you had a lot of questions about what Belinda's life was like with her parents. That doesn't seem to have much to do with teenage courtship rituals."

Seven looked away, then answered, "All of my questions were relevant to my investigations."

"That's . . . intriguing."

After a moment's hesitation, Seven commented, "Ensign Kim. I noted that this program made your face change in the way I have learned transmits to others that a subject is painful. One of those times was when Belinda mentioned being on the Parrises Squares team at school. Why would this subject bring you pain?"

"That's how Belle died, Seven. She damaged her brain in a fall playing Parrises Squares. The Doctor couldn't save her. So even though Belinda looked different, I couldn't help thinking of Belle and feeling bad about it. I remembered her funeral."

"I understand. I thought at first that you had been damaged in the past playing this sport," Seven said quietly.

"No, it made me think of mourning. And thinking about that always makes me think about losing Kes."

Seven stared over Harry's shoulders for a moment. "I have lost everything I have ever known, also. I have lost the Collective." She paused. "I believe I have felt pain from this."

//And maybe not just the Collective,// thought Harry. "Seven, all those questions about Belinda's parents . . . are you thinking about your parents, too? Mourning their loss?" 

Her expression changed, and she hesitated again before answering. "I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I had not become Borg."

"That's what this program is really all about, isn't it? Not courtship rituals."

"Not entirely," Seven responded, with conviction. "I must comprehend humanoid courtship rituals. The Borg did not practice single-cell fertilization themselves, but now that I am an individual, I need to understand this process. There is a high probability of its becoming relevant to my future." 

The cool equanimity Seven usually projected returned. Harry could recognize someone in denial. He'd seen it up close with B'Elanna and Tom, and maybe sometimes when he'd looked into a mirror. She wasn't ready to admit to mourning her lost parents, her lost childhood. Maybe it was enough, for now, for her to admit she even wondered about what it might have been like if she'd never encountered the Borg. 

Rather than push her any further about her parents, Harry decided to ask her about the topic she did seem willing to discuss. "So, are you interested in learning about dating, then? Like Belinda was talking about?"

"Going out for a 'slice of pizza' does not appeal to me."

"Depends on how good the pizza is! Neelix's isn't very good. There are other kinds of dates, though. There are some holonovels you could try. There are places you can visit, too, like the Ktarian moonrise simulation. It's beautiful. Would you like to try something like that sometime?"

"Would copulation occur during these simulations?"

Harry, aghast, cried, "No! Dating and copulation don't mean the same thing!"

"They are related."

"Sometimes they are, but not always."

"You would not be interested in copulating with me?"

Gasping, Harry replied, "I'm not saying that. But I'm not asking you to copulate when I'm inviting you to experience a simulation together. Sometimes dating leads to copulation, but usually not right off the bat. It takes time for two people to learn how to trust each other . . . to develop mutual feelings for one another. Friendship really should come first."

"I understand that you and Kes did not have many dates before your marriage."

"That's true, but we'd known each other for three years as friends. We knew she wouldn't live very long, so we decided not to wait once we knew we wanted to get married. I guess that was a good decision, the way things turned out. We didn't have as much time together as we expected. A lot less, in fact." Harry looked down at the table, at his hands. Reflexively, he had clenched them at Seven's mention of Kes.

"Does speaking of this bring you pain, Ensign Kim?"

"Some," Harry answered honestly. "But it's good for me to talk about her, too. I have to accept I've lost her so I can move on with my life." Seven was drinking in all of what he had to say as intently as she had Belinda's recitation, he saw, and he continued, "That's the way it is with any kind of loss. Talking about it makes it better, somehow. So, what you were doing here with Belinda wasn't really a bad thing."

"I simply chose an unacceptable character."

"Maybe you didn't. I'm not sure how the Doc would respond if he knew what you were talking about with her. I'm sorry B'Elanna got so upset about it. But maybe . . . "

"Yes, Ensign?"

"Talking with one of the crew instead of a holodeck character would be an even better idea. That way, B'Elanna can't get upset again because you picked the wrong character."

"Not many on this vessel wish to speak with me." 

"I wouldn't mind speaking with you." Looking around at the chairs and tables of the Resort, which had begun to fill with their fellow crew members, Harry paused and checked the time. "In fact, it looks like I have lots of time to talk now. My shift is over. Let me check with the bridge. If they don't need me, we could get some dinner. Isn't it time for you to eat, too?"

"It is."

"Do you want to go to the mess hall?"

"I would prefer to ingest nutrients here. The smells in the mess hall are often unappealing."

Harry laughed. "I can't disagree with you about that! I've got the rations, so if you do, too, here is fine." 

As he signaled for the waiter, Harry became aware of Seven's eyes fixed upon him--such pretty blue eyes. When he realized whose eyes they reminded him of, he felt another pang beneath his breastbone. 

The waiter came, and Harry forced himself to push away memory and pain so he could order meals for his companion and himself. While they waited to be served, Harry was able to ask Seven the question about the Astrometrics power relays he needed her to answer.

Tonight, when he was alone in his quarters, Harry would take the time to reminisce about his lost love. Someone else was in need of his help now, and he was glad to give it. Kes would have wanted it that way. 

=^=

". . . all right, B'Elanna. I'm sure Harry will find out what Seven was doing with the Belle character. The power relays can wait. Harry's right, though. It's not good for you to get so upset like this."

::::I'm fine. The baby's fine. I wish everyone would stop obsessing about the baby every time I get a little aggravated about something I've got good reason to be aggravated about! Is Tom there obsessing, too, Captain?::::

Tom rolled his eyes at Captain Janeway as he answered, "Yes, I'm here, B'Elanna. I have something to tell the captain, and then I'll be off for the rest of the night. How long will you be in Engineering?"

::::As long as it takes me to figure out a way to jury-rig a bypass around the blasted Astrometrics power relays! If we could have consulted with the Borg about it, I'd probably be off already!::::

"Ah. Okay. Maybe I'll wander down to Engineering as soon as I'm done here, to see if I can help you with anything. Just take it easy."

::::'Just take it easy.' You are obsessing, too, I take it.::::

"No more than usual. I'll be there in a little while. Paris out."

As the communication ended, the captain allowed her laughter to be heard by her helmsman-cum-nurse. Tom sighed, "It's not so funny when it happens every day, Captain. I'll be glad when this is over, and I only have to worry about a baby screaming all night long."

"I'm sorry, Tom. I shouldn't have laughed."

Tom grinned ruefully. "I'm sure it's a lot funnier when it's happening to somebody else." 

"I'm sure it is. Go ahead and make your report so you can rescue B'Elanna--or maybe rescue Engineering! Let her relax a little before the next crisis occurs."

"Thanks, Captain. I needed to talk to you about Nanny. The Doctor has his hands full dealing with her. She's been putting moves on him. While I was in Sickbay today she came in three times; and each time, she was fluttering her eyelashes and invading his personal space and . . . Captain, I've flirted enough myself to know when someone is trying to seduce somebody. And she is. Trying to seduce the Doc, I mean."

"Hasn't the Doctor told her he's 'married'? Jeffrey is one of her students, isn't he?"

"Actually, no, I don't think he has told her. The Doctor hasn't mentioned Charlene that I know of, and I don't know if it was put into the student data base. We put most of the emphasis on Naomi. That wasn't my area to program, but I'll look into it, now that you mention it. And there's one other thing . . . "

"Yes?"

"I've noticed that Nanny has a tendency to be a wee bit paranoid. Okay, a lot paranoid. She worries about everything. People are watching her and following her around--they want to do evil things to her--that sort of thing."

"The Doctor mentioned that to me before. I thought it was simply a matter of her being able to sense the general log cameras. Perhaps it's something more, if she's thinking that someone is out to get her."

"Between her worrying about everything and coming onto the Doc, buttering him up by calling him 'Lord Burly,' I don't think he is . . ."

"Did you say Lord Burleigh?" the captain gasped.

"Yeah, that's what she's been calling him. Lord Burly."

"Oh, God! You didn't use my Victorian governess holonovel for her program?" 

"Let me check." Tom leaned over the captain's desk to access her computer. After several deft movements of his fingers, the screen filled with columns of data. After a few "uh-hmms" and "okays," he looked up at the captain. "Yes, Captain. We eliminated 'The Turn of the Screw,' 'Jane Eyre,' and several other works we thought could cause problems from Nanny's matrix, but your holonovel's governess Lucille Davenport was included."

"Well, that explains it all, then. Lord Burleigh was supposedly a widower, but Lady Burleigh was still alive and dangerously crazy."

"That sounds a lot like 'Jane Eyre.' "

"It is, in some ways; but there were a few unusual twists, so I decided to be Lucille Davenport instead of Jane. I haven't run the program for quite a while now. Compared to daily life on Voyager, it was boring, to tell you the truth."

"And Leonardo might get jealous."

Despite her concern, the captain laughed. "The Da Vinci program is much more entertaining. Such a great mind!"

"I'm sorry we put Mrs. Davenport into the matrix without realizing the deficiencies in her character, Captain. I should have checked her out instead of leaving it to the Doc."

"It's all right. Now that we know about the problem, it's easy enough to fix. But before we do any more fiddling with her personality, we need to be honest with her."

"Absolutely, Captain. I wanted to do that from the beginning."

=^=

"Hello! Nanny? Are you still here?" Captain Janeway called out as she entered the schoolroom, with Tom close on her heels.

Nanny shimmered into existence. "Yes, I'm still here. I haven't had a chance to go home yet, what with all the lesson planning I have to do. I was expecting Miss Nine to stop by this afternoon, but I haven't seen her. Have you?"

"No, but I know why she didn't come. She had something she needed to discuss with Ensign Kim."

"Oh, Captain, I hope there isn't any problem! No one's creeping around Miss Nine wanting to do her harm, is there? There are so many disreputable people hanging around. You just never know what they'll do!" Nanny's brow crinkled in dismay.

"No, nothing like that, Nanny. Just something about Astrometrics she and Mr. Kim needed to discuss."

"I'll get the Doc," Tom whispered to the captain at a pause in her dialogue with the teacher, while Nanny was muttering to herself about Miss Nine being in danger, too. 

A minute later, Tom followed the Doctor into the schoolroom. 

As soon as the Doctor arrived, the captain began, "Now that I've got the two of you together, I have to ask you about what's been going on in here. Tom has expressed concern about some things he's observed in Sickbay. Doctor?"

The EMH stood up a little straighter, then deflated visibly. "There do seem to have been a few little problems lately. Nothing I can't handle."

"Tom tells me that Nanny has been flirting with you. Inviting you out to dinner--that sort of thing."

The Doctor stabbed a look in Tom's direction, but before he could answer, Nanny chimed in, "Oh, Captain, it's true! I can't help it. He's such a wonderful man. I've always had a weakness for my employers; I confess. It's my Achilles' heel. If you don't favor my attentions, Lord Burleigh--I mean, Doctor--I'll understand if you need to terminate me."

"No one's going to terminate you!" cried the Doctor. "Oh, you mean fire you?"

"That's what she meant, Doc. It wasn't like she expected you to 'terminate' her, like she was a computer program, or something," Tom explained pointedly. "Then she wouldn't be paranoid about somebody being out to get her, would she?"

"Tom . . ." the captain warned, then turned back to the teacher. "You're saying you've fallen in love with your employer, the Doctor?"

"Yes, desperately." Nanny, starry eyed and smiling, glanced lovingly at the EMH.

"Nanny, the Doctor isn't your employer. I am," said Janeway.

"You're my employer? Oh, no, that clearly can't be. Why, you can't be Lord Burleigh. You're a woman! Aren't you?" Nanny looked nervously at the captain.

"Yes, of course, the captain is a woman, but that doesn't mean she can't be your employer! I'm not your employer, Nanny! I'm the chief medical officer of this ship, but the captain runs the ship! She's the 'employer' of us all."

"I don't understand!" wailed Nanny. 

Taking Nanny by the hand, the captain sat her down in the chair behind the teacher's desk, perching herself on its edge, before continuing, "You see, Nanny, you've been programmed to have a predisposition to fall in love with your employer. Since the Doctor has been so involved with you, it's understandable that you interpreted him to be your employer, but he isn't. He's really your crew mate and co-worker."

"I've been programmed? I've been brainwashed, you mean? You see! Someone is out to get me! Oh, what have I done to deserve this?"

"No, Nanny, that's not it at all." Sighing, the captain turned to the Doctor. "It's time, Doctor. Will you tell her, or shall I?"

"Tell me what?"

The Doctor met the captain's firm, not-to-be-disobeyed, Janeway stare. Shaking his head slightly and sighing, the Doctor turned to Nanny and declared, "Nanny, you and I aren't humans, like the Captain, or even Mr. Paris here. We're sophisticated computer programs who interact with the humanoids on Voyager via a holographic interface. We're holograms."

Nanny gaped at the Doctor, gagged, and began to laugh hysterically. "Holograms! Computer programs! Oh, my, Doctor! You really had me going there for a moment! This is just too funny!"

"I'm not in the habit of joking about as serious a subject as this one!" cried the EMH.

The captain tried to get Nanny's attention, but it was Tom who walked over to her. Brushing by the captain, he knelt before the teacher and reached out to grasp her hands. "Nanny, access Zeta-Tau-Alpha-Two, Holographic Matrix Program Directory, Matrices One and Two. It's all there. All the specs for the Emergency Medical Hologram and the Holographic Head Teacher programs. The EMH and the HHT. You're the HHT."

Abruptly, Nanny stopped laughing and gazed up at Tom with a faraway look in her eyes. When her eyes again focused on Tom's sympathetic ones, she gulped a small, "Oh," before looking at Captain Janeway. The captain gazed at the HHT, her eyes filled with the same sympathetic warmth that Tom's had. 

Nanny looked up at the ceiling. "The holoemitters are up there?"

"Yes, Nanny," Tom replied. "They're housed in the ceilings in here. Also in Sickbay, in the medical labs, and in two Holodecks that have their entrances one deck below us, on Deck Six. You can go anywhere where there are holoemitters. You can transfer down to the Holodecks without having to go out into any corridors, but we've been talking about fitting holoemitters in some other rooms, too. Maybe a corridor or two. That's for the future, though. Until that's done, these are the only places you can go."

"But how do you get around on those away missions you've told me about, Doctor? Don't you need holoemitters to . . . to be?"

"That small badge I wear on my arm sometimes is a mobile emitter. It's very handy. I can go anywhere when I'm wearing that."

"Can you make me one?"

"I'm sorry, Nanny. That technology is from the future. It's a long story, but the brief version is that we only have the one." The Doctor took a deep breath. "Of course, we can share the mobile emitter. There are bound to be times when I'm going to be needed in Sickbay, and you can use it then. Perhaps when we get to a suitable planet, your program can be loaded into it so you can take Naomi on a field trip."

"Naomi, but not the other students? Oh. They're holocharacters, too, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are. My son Jeffrey and all the teenagers. All the children, except for Naomi."

"And Miss Nine is a holocharacter, too, of course."

Tom chuckled, "Well, no, actually. Seven is a human being. "

"Really! If you'd told me just one of the others was a hologram, I would have guessed Miss Nine."

Captain Janeway smiled. "An understandable mistake. She's led a rather unusual life up to now. One could say she's been programmed, too, in many ways."

Nanny smiled sadly at the captain. "So, my only true student is Naomi."

"And Seven. She needs just as much instruction on how to be a human being as Naomi does. More, probably. That's why we assigned her to work with you. I'm sure you'll be able to help her develop in many ways we can't anticipate yet. I'm looking forward to seeing how you do with her," the captain said encouragingly.

"So, I'm a computer program," Nanny repeated. "Is that why I thought everyone was out to get me?"

"No, it was the way you were programmed." Captain Janeway explained. "You've been having problems because elements from my old holonovel contaminated your personality files. They didn't work well with the rest of your subroutines. Don't worry. I'll have Tom, B'Elanna, Harry and Seven work on taking them out tomorrow."

"No, Captain. I think I'd rather you left them there. Now that I know what I really am, I think I'll be able to get around them. And if I can't, then you can take them out."

"Sure, Nanny. That should work. B'Elanna will be keeping your program tuned up regularly anyway. You just let one of us know if you need any help in between, and we'll fix you right up." As Tom finished, he noted that Nanny had become very quiet and disturbed. "Is there still something wrong, Nanny?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, Lieutenant. Nothing you can do anything about. It's just that I'm nothing more than . . . I'm only a program." 

Tom squeezed her hand again. "No, you aren't, not to us, Nanny. You're your own, distinct personality. Now that you know exactly what you are, you'll be able to develop it even more, on your own. Like the Doc has. One thing you've got going for you is that it's pretty easy to adapt your personality when you want to. You don't need a counselor, something we don't have on this ship and desperately need! B'Elanna will help with a little reprogramming. We'll get rid of that glitch and fix you right up."

"I'm not really alive. I'm not real," she said, hollowly.

"That's not true, Nanny. You're real to us. The Doc sure is," Tom said, with a sincere smile.

"No, I'm not. I'm only a projection of light and energy."

Janeway gently patted Nanny on the shoulder. "You know, Nanny, human beings are made up of atoms. And what does an atom consist of? Positive charges of electricity in the form of protons and negative charges, electrons--with a few neutrons here and there thrown in for good measure. Essentially, matter is made up of energy. So maybe 'a projection of light and energy' isn't a bad description of us all, not just you." 

"It doesn't mean I'm a life form. You can turn me on and off."

"They certainly can," grumbled the Doctor. "Any time they want."

Tom coughed suddenly and got up in front of Nanny, rubbing his knees as if they were sore. "I don't know if being capable of being turned off and on negates your being a life form." 

The captain transmitted a withering look at her helmsman. At this moment she did not wish to address the thought that had prompted that comment. She had a pretty good idea what it had been. Instead, she said, "Now, Nanny, sentience is another matter--you are sentient, as far as we're all concerned."

"Me, sentient? A computer program?" sputtered Nanny.

"A computer program you may be, but you're self-aware, able to think, even to reproduce in some manner. You and the Doctor fit the definition of a sentient being to me."

Nanny looked in confusion at the Doctor, who opened his mouth as if he wished to say something, without a word escaping his lips. Returning her attention to the captain, she said, "I may know who and what I am, but can I think? And how can I reproduce?"

"You've shown your ability to use reason and to problem solve while teaching Naomi. That sounds like thinking to me. And you are the same sort of being as the Doctor, who, in a sense, has reproduced by helping to create you." 

Tom agreed vigorously. "He did, Nanny. The Doc was very involved in creating you. And he's been very protective, too. Almost fatherly."

Nanny's eyes turned inward as she considered Tom's remark. Finally, she sighed, "That's all very nice of you to say, but this is the Delta Quadrant. What will Starfleet say about this when Voyager returns to the Alpha Quadrant?"

The Doctor found his voice again. "If you examine the Starfleet databanks you'll see there's an android, an artificial life form who has become a member of Starfleet--he was a lieutenant commander when we left the Alpha Quadrant, as a matter of fact. His right to choose his own fate has been decided in a court of law. As far as the law is concerned, he is not a machine, but a living being. Yet, like a machine, he has an on and off switch."

Tom interjected, "You know, when humanoid species are asleep, you could say they're 'off.' And when they're awake, aren't they 'on'?"

"An excellent example, Tom." The captain caught his sly grin. That wasn't what he'd been thinking about earlier, she was willing to bet, but it was good enough for now.

"Well, maybe . . ."

"And we're only talking of species that have bodies. There are beings we accept as 'real,' such as the Organians, who have evolved beyond having bodies." The EMH began to warm to the subject. "We've even had a member of this crew leave us by transforming herself into a non-corporeal life form." 

Janeway said, "There, you see? I think we have an excellent argument that you and the Doctor are a kind of life form, too, just of another type. Perhaps we should call you an intermittent life form? You have bodies like ours only when you're 'on,' but when you're 'turned off,' you continue to exist inside our computer core."

Tom added, "When you and the Doc are asleep, you kind of become Organians. No bodies, but your consciousness can be called up any time we need you."

Janeway nodded in approval. "Exactly. What do you say, Nanny? Can you accept that explanation?"

"I'll try," she sighed, glancing down at her lap. When she raised her eyes again, there was a tiny smile lurking there. Janeway smiled warmly at her. From out of the corner of her eye, the captain could see Tom's grin of encouragement, which Nanny answered by straightening her posture. Clearing her throat, Nanny turned her attention back to the Doctor. "I think perhaps I owe you an apology, Doctor. You didn't seem to want my . . . attentions. I guess I'm not the kind of intermittent life form you'd want to date."

"Oh, you'd be a lovely intermittent life form to date, but I'm not free. I have Jeffrey's mother Charlene--my wife. She isn't self-aware, perhaps, but I've made a commitment to our family. We have two sons. You know Jeffrey, and then there's our new little bouncing baby boy hologram. We haven't decided upon a name for him yet, but . . ."

Tom groaned, "Doc, don't you think you need to do something about that soon? I mean, can't you hold a 'name that holographic baby' contest or something?"

"Mr. Paris! I can just imagine what B'Elanna would say if you suggested to her that the crew have a baby-naming contest for your anticipated offspring!"

"Don't have to, Doc. We've already got her name picked out. You're the one who's got the history of waffling on names."

"Now, Tom . . . " cautioned the captain.

"I'm sorry, Captain. Doc, I guess I did get a little carried away," Tom apologized, backing up a step, with both hands raised to signal his retreat. 

The EMH turned back to Nanny. "Anyway, as a family man, I couldn't date you. It simply wouldn't be acceptable, as desirable as you are. Besides, if Mr. Paris and the captain are correct in their supposition that I've reproduced you, it would be even less appropriate. I'd be your father, more or less."

"My father? My FATHER? MY FATHER! Oh, no! I don't want to even think about dating my father! No, no, no. Oh, dear, no!"

"Calm down. It's all right, Nanny," Tom said. "No harm done! You never did get around to a date with him, so there's no need for screams of horror." The Doctor glared at Tom, who continued without missing a beat, "And if you want a boyfriend, I can program a much better one for you than the Doctor."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Paris, for your vote of confidence. Charlene doesn't seem to hold that opinion, fortunately!" 

The captain rested her hand upon her brow. She felt a headache coming on. A very nasty one. 

Nanny came to the rescue. "Before I even think about getting a boyfriend, I'll need a real name. I wonder which one I should pick?"

The Doctor eagerly replied, "Your name needs to be one that communicates something to the world about you! It can honor an important personage from the past or express some of your hopes for your future. There are so many wonderful names to choose from, I've had trouble narrowing the list of possibilities . . ."

"Here we go again," muttered the captain, as Tom groaned loudly.

The Doctor glanced over at the captain and sighed. "You're right, Captain. I haven't even picked my own yet. I'm not one to talk about making a decision about names."

"I can't think of a better person to give me a name . . . Father." Nanny smiled at the EMH, eliciting a half-smile from him.

Tom scratched up his hair and said, "Maybe he already has then."

"What are you jabbering about now, Mr. Paris?" the Doctor grumbled.

"Maybe I know her name." Tom paused, as if suddenly reluctant to continue. Shrugging his shoulders, he said softly, "Maybe it's Belle."

Not noticing the sudden change in the Doctor's expression, Nanny replied, "Like your wife B'Elanna? After her?"

Tom's eyes never wavered from the Doctor's face. A vulnerable expression had come over him at Nanny's innocent question. When he saw the EMH give him ever so slight a nod, however, Tom responded to Nanny, "No, not after B'Elanna. Belle was the Doctor's daughter in his family program. She's not around anymore, but you could be her, all grown up."

Seeing the Doctor's wistful expression, Nanny looked quizzically at the captain, who was unable to add anything to what Tom said. Tom advised her, in a very gentle tone of voice, "You can access the Doctor's family program if you want to know more, Nanny."

Nanny's eyes went out of focus again as she accessed the part of the computer memory that Tom had suggested. As her eyes returned to normal, Nanny leaned towards the EMH, took his hand in hers and murmured, "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize . . . "

"It's quite all right. You couldn't have known, really. The way I'd set up the program before, you wouldn't have been able to see it, even if you'd known where to look."

Silence fell over the entire group. The two holograms continued to clasp hands. A bit of holographic mist might have come into their eyes, but Janeway wasn't quite sure. Her own eyes seemed to go blurry for a moment, and she couldn't even see Tom's. He was looking away from them all.

When Nanny cleared her throat importantly, everyone looked back at her. After a short pause, the holographic teacher stated, "Captain Janeway, please let everyone know that, like any member of the crew, I may be called by my job title. Nanny. But those who wish to call me by name should call me Belle. I might not be that same hologram, but I'd like everyone to call me that, in memory of the Doctor's brave little girl."

Tom swiftly looked away again. This time the captain didn't bother to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes as she replied, huskily, "I'll make sure they all know."

After a short pause, the EMH said, "Mr. Paris, don't you think now would be a good time to load Nanny's program . . . I mean Belle's . . . into the mobile emitter? It's about time she had a chance to get out of the schoolroom and Sickbay, don't you think?"

"Sure, Doc. And I need to get down to Engineering before Joe Carey and the rest of the staff are driven crazy by a pregnant half-Klingon. She's probably got them scrubbing every Jefferies tube on Voyager. Let me get the emitter." Tom sauntered into Sickbay.

The captain said, "I think I'll be your guide, Belle. I have a feeling Mr. Paris will be needed in Engineering longer than he anticipates, and I want you to see more of Voyager than just that department. How would you like a tour of the ship?" 

"A tour of the ship. That sounds exciting," bubbled Belle. 

The Doctor added, "While you're gone, I'll get home to Charlene and let her know that Jeffrey's teacher will be coming for dinner. You do want to come for dinner, don't you?"

"Of course, Doctor. Umm. Doctor?"

"Yes, Nan . . . Belle?"

"Do you think your wife would mind if I called you Pops, or something? 'Doctor' doesn't sound right any more, somehow. And 'Father' seems so formal."

The Doctor beamed. "Pops. I rather like that."

"Pops?" asked Tom as he returned, mobile emitter in hand.

"Just load her program into the emitter, Mr. Paris," the EMH groaned.

As the bantering continued, Kathryn Janeway leaned back, crossed her arms, and thought, not for the first time, and definitely not the last,

//Weird is *definitely* part of the job.//

 

=/\=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nanny": Without the creation of the Emergency Medical Hologram, particularly as presented in the episode "Real Life," with a screenplay by Jeri Taylor from a story by Harry Doc Kloor, this story could not exist. During the conversation between Kim and Seven in the Resort program, there are a few references to the episode "Revulsion," written by Lisa Klink. The Jane Eyre-like governess program originally appeared in "Cathexis," teleplay by Brannon Braga from a story by Brannon Braga and Joe Menosky. Should Nanny remind anyone of a former talk show host with a Long Island accent who loved Kate Mulgrew from her Ryan's Hope days, don't be surprised. That's who I pictured while I wrote this.  
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


	3. One Corner of My Heart

**One Corner of My Heart**

"Are you sure it's in here?"

"That's where I put it the last time you chewed up my cheek, Chief," replied Tom.

"Oh, stop whining. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad! Do you have any idea what the Doc will say when I show up for duty with this? 'Mr. Paris. Despite my acknowledged prowess as a physician, you of all people should know the best defense against infection is an unbroken epidermal layer!' And that's just for starters!" Tom Paris peered into the mirror and dabbed away at the angry looking bite on his right cheek, just below the earlobe. "Haven't you found it yet?"

B'Elanna blithely ignored Tom's nattering while rummaging deeper inside her husband's top drawer in the dressing area for Charlene and 'Kenneth's' wedding present. "Why don't you just get it healed in Sickbay, Tom?"

Tom shot a frustrated glance over his shoulder after his wife's non sequitur. "He told me he expects us to use our own, personal dermal regenerator so he doesn't have to waste his own precious time treating me for assorted Klingon love bites. Or infections from love bites. That's why he gave it to us. It's his idea of a hint."

B'Elanna was about to snort derisively when her searching hands encountered the outline of the object she was seeking beneath some sort of garment. The dermal regenerator's form was unmistakable, thanks to the many times she'd had her hands on it during the past few months. While Tom occasionally patched her up, most of the time B'Elanna was the one holding the instrument over her husband's pale skin, healing injuries caused by their sometimes over-enthusiastic exploration of their physical relationship. That old Klingon maxim about the most amorous of Klingon women being those who were already pregnant must be true, if B'Elanna's appetites was typical. Privately, B'Elanna believed she'd have been just as amorous around Tom even if she hadn't been pregnant. They'd been pretty active on Tantrum IV. In fact, that was how he'd gotten her pregnant in the first place! Not that she hadn't been extremely willing and eager for all that activity herself.

"Did you find it yet?" asked Tom.

Tom's inquiry startled B'Elanna out of her reverie, which had taken a distinctly sexual turn. //Maybe there *is* something to this pregnant Klingon thing,// B'Elanna mused, answering aloud, "I think so."

As B'Elanna began to pull the dermal regenerator out of its hiding place, the piece of cloth which had become wrapped around the medical instrument came out as well. When she pushed at it to free the instrument, a faint clink issued forth from the fabric-enveloped package.

Curious. This was her husband's "junk" drawer, not one that had much in the way of clothing in it as a general rule. Besides, this fabric was rather soft to constitute one of Tom's usual garments, unless it was one of those specialty undergarments they'd replicated a couple of times as a gag. Nothing else would be so silky to the touch. And she had no idea what might have made the metallic sound.

Lifting the dermal regenerator and its wrapping from the drawer, B'Elanna carried her findings to the bed. The cloth was golden brocade and tantalizingly familiar.

When she dumped the two objects out onto the bed, the mystery of the clinking sound was quickly revealed. It was an earring--a Bajoran one, to be precise. Several small dangles hung from the chain connecting the pair of bands designed to fasten the piece of jewelry around an ear. There was only the one, but B'Elanna wasn't expecting to see a pair. Thanks to her Bajoran compatriots in the Maquis, she was well aware that the wearing of an earring by Bajorans was as much a cultural custom as it was a sign of faith. Usually, the ornament was placed upon the ear through which the vedeks could most easily detect one's "pagh," or life force. If this one hadn't been striking the housing of the dermal regenerator, the earring might not have made enough sound for B'Elanna to have known it was there.

Its proximity to the Bajoran jewelry helped B'Elanna identify the brocade cloth, a neck scarf worn with a vedek's robes. B'Elanna had seen scarves much like it on Ro Laren when she was in her "Vedek Larys" disguise, during the days Ro was in Chakotay's Maquis cell. B'Elanna picked up the earring by one of its dangles and observed the way light reflected over the tiny metallic surfaces. Despite their minuscule size, the bangles flashed brightly. 

"Do you have it yet? My cheek is starting to . . ." As Tom entered their bedroom from the sanitary cubicle, he broke off his complaint at the sight of the object hanging from his wife's fingers.

"Ro's?" she asked him, more calmly than she thought possible, considering her suddenly overflowing emotions.

"No, it's mine . . . but Ro gave it to me. I was wearing it when I was captured by the Federation." Tom's gaze softened as he plucked it off B'Elanna's proffering finger. "I'd forgotten all about this. I thought I'd thrown it out years ago. You can toss it into the recycler, B'Elanna. I don't need it any more. Now, about my cheek?"

"And the scarf?" B'Elanna persisted, somewhat heatedly, as she picked up the dermal regenerator and waved it over the bite. "Did you think you'd thrown that out, too?"

"I really haven't thought anything about it in a long time, B'Elanna. When we moved into our new quarters, I just dumped everything from my old junk drawer into the new one. I hardly ever go in there for anything. To tell you the truth, I should probably just recycle everything in that drawer. You could use the space for the baby's clothes, couldn't you?"

B'Elanna bit down on her lip and didn't answer right away. She had a "junk" drawer, too, and she'd done exactly the same thing when they'd moved in together. It was certainly possible that he'd forgotten about it. "Somehow, I don't think you'd be that happy with me just dumping away all your souvenirs like that, Tom," she finally said.

"I've got more important things in my life right now than holding onto a reminder of one of the worst days in my life," Tom retorted, gently patting her hugely distended abdomen. "Do whatever you want to with whatever you find in that drawer, B'Elanna. Feel free to dump it all. If nothing else, I'm sure we're going to need a junk drawer for baby souvenirs. First lock of hair, maybe? First pair of baby shoes?"

Sniffing, B'Elanna waved the regenerator over Tom's wound a few times. Finally she announced stiffly, "I'm done. I don't think the Doctor will give you any lectures about Klingon mating practices this morning."

"Thanks," Tom smiled, rubbing his cheek where she'd healed it as he stood up. "Seriously, how are you feeling? Any more of those little contractions? How's your back?"

"I'm fine, Worrywart. All I need to feel absolutely great is to spend my regular shifts in Engineering instead of this stupid light duty. Can't you talk to the Doctor about that? I'd only be seconds by transporter beam from Sickbay! Why can't I just go to work?"

"After that false alarm with the contractions? He's just being cautious. If we have another run-in with the Hirogen and get bounced around again, you probably would be better off out of Engineering."

"I doubt that! I'd probably get bounced around crawling through the Jefferies tubes trying to get to Engineering!"

"You just stay out of any Jefferies tubes for the time being, Lieutenant. I don't think you want to give birth in there. Sickbay would be much healthier."

"Sickbay! I don't want our baby born in Sickbay! That's for sick people. Injured people. Dying people! The last thing I want is to be reminded about that when I'm in labor! Whatever happened to having the baby here in our quarters?"

"As long as things are going okay, you can stay here. The Doc already told you that. Our quarters would certainly be better than the Jefferies tubes! You know there isn't a lot in the medical database about half-Klingons giving birth. The Doc's flying blind, thanks to your unique physiology. That's why he's being so cautious."

"I know, I know. But I'm perfectly fine. I want to get back on duty! Today!"

"Glad to hear how fine you are, but this close to your due date--or what the Doc thinks is your due date--I would prefer to be on the safe side, too. You know Joe, Sue, and the rest of your staff can handle Engineering. They'll call if they need you, Chief. You can be sure of that! Just take it easy. You'll be back hounding them in no time."

"Is this some plot hatched by you and my staff because I've been a little testy lately?"

"Testy? You?" At the mock incredulity tone in his voice, she gave him a playful swat. He defended himself with arms upraised, saying with a broad grin, "Not now, B'Elanna. Lovemaking must take second place to my medical training. The Doc is eagerly awaiting, just itching to lecture me about how I need to show how committed I am to my duties by being punctual at all times!"

"You've made your point. Just go, Hotshot," she laughed, pushing him playfully on the back to hustle him towards the door.

Tom suddenly hesitated and turned to face her. She was surprised to see that all traces of humor had fled from his face as he said, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Of course I am. I just told you. What is it now?" she asked, genuinely puzzled by his change of mood. Then she remembered. She'd broken down again about Chakotay's message from Sveta, their mutual friend from the Maquis, only a few hours before. "Oh, that" she added, and with a determined act of will, putting a smile back on her face. "I'm all right. Really. I just needed to cry it out of my system."

Tom curled up his lower lip in uncertainty, but he said only, "Well, if you need me again, for anything at all, just remember that's what Comm signals are for. 'Kay?"

"Okay. Now, go, before the Doctor calls you over our Comm system and gets after you for being 'neglectful of your Sickbay duties' again. And tell him I'll give him his weekly check-up tomorrow when I come in for my next prenatal exam."

"Will do," Tom said jauntily, but he took the time to pucker up for a lingering good-bye kiss before striding out into the corridor to begin his work day.

=^=

B'Elanna really did think she was okay--at first. Once the door closed behind her husband, however, she had only her thoughts for company. The walls seemed to echo hollowly with her every step. It was much too quiet. All brightness and color seemed to have seeped out of the suite of rooms at Tom's exit. It was astonishing, really, how quickly he had become part of her life. //Not just part. Essential to my life,// she thought in a moment of revelation. //I don't ever want to know what it's like to live without him.//

The news about the destruction of the Maquis did bother her tremendously. While she cleared their breakfast dishes, B'Elanna could not help thinking about her lost friends. No matter how hard she tried, she could not banish images of her good friends, so many of whom were now in their graves. Tom may have thought B'Elanna had been pressuring him about going back to work full time in Engineering because she was bored. B'Elanna was honest enough to admit to herself the real reason. She wanted to bury herself in work so she would be too busy to obsess over the brutal end of the Maquis. Sitting alone in their quarters day after day would provide B'Elanna with far too much free time think about the unthinkable.

If she couldn't work in Engineering, she would just have to keep herself occupied in their quarters. Resolving to work her way out of her melancholy, B'Elanna slipped Tom's junk drawer out of the wall where it was housed and tumbled its contents onto the bed. Most of the stuff, she decided, really was junk, she decided. She'd need to establish three piles: "Keep," "Recycle," and "Ask Tom Before Discarding."

A deck of cards that was minus the jack of spades. Several pairs of dice, including the set she suspected was loaded. Five socks without a match among them. All were rapidly consigned to the "don't keep" pile. No need to keep any of those things. They were truly the useless sort of items that gives a junk drawer its very apt name.

A few of the items were worth retaining. B'Elanna tossed several holoimage cubes and a small chunk of gallicite ore onto the "keep" pile. That little pebble was a souvenir for her, too, of the momentous away team mission that had transformed her attitude towards Tom and, eventually, both their lives. That was an easy decision, too.

Others required a little more thought, like deciding whether or not to keep the necklace Tom had worn on the planet where castaway Ferengi "sages" had fleeced an unsophisticated populace. That time Voyager and its crew almost got home to the Alpha Quadrant through the same wormhole the "sages" had tumbled through, but the Ferengi managed to destroy it just before Voyager could use it. There were sad connotations to the necklace, although overall, both of them agreed that saving the people of that planet from being corrupted helped make up for the lost opportunity to get home. She added the necklace and the fake Ferengi ears to the "ask Tom first" heap. She also needed to check the contents of several PADDs before deciding whether they needed to be recycled. Seeing that most contained outlines of holonovels Tom had begun to work on with Tuvok until a pregnant half-Klingon wife had diverted his attention, B'Elanna placed them next to the gallicite. He might want to work on them again someday.

The sight of the PADDs brought her mind back to Ro Laren. The last time B'Elanna had seen her, Ro had been packing up her things. She'd found a PADD listing Tom's bar bills mixed in with some of hers. Ro had broken down in tears when she found out what was on it. B'Elanna hadn't understood the significance until much later, but Ro knew. Tom the mercenary had wanted to pay off his debts, to do the honorable thing, even when no one believed such a thing would ever occur to him.

A few tears stung her eyes as she wondered what had happened to the Bajoran woman. Sveta had not included any information about Ro's fate in the message to Chakotay. B'Elanna hoped she had gotten over Tom and found something else to do with her life. Maybe she never went back to the Maquis. Maybe that's why Sveta didn't have anything to say about her. If only the Hirogen Array hadn't been destroyed, Chakotay could have sent a message back to Sveta and asked about Ro specifically.

B'Elanna picked up the cloth and the earring. There was a story here. Belatedly, she realized she'd never even wondered about it before. Ro had been in love with Tom, B'Elanna knew, but what had Tom's feelings towards Ro been? They'd been lovers at the Maquis hideout on Malagra. Seska informed her of that even before Ro left Chakotay's cell. B'Elanna seemed to recall Ro saying during one of the nights they'd passed working together on the conversion of the Klingon freighter, the tajtIq, on Delistor, that she'd never had any boyfriends. Chakotay even mentioned it once, after Ro left, now that she thought about it. Tom and Ro had been friends at the Academy, but nothing more. Was that really true? Had they been lovers at the Academy, too? And did B'Elanna really want to know what her husband felt about his old friend?

Felt? Or still feels?

B'Elanna felt her stomachs become a little queasy as she fingered the religious garment and piece of jewelry. Two symbols of faith. Were they just bits of flotsam from a past life of travail, or were they souvenirs of a love her husband didn't want to forget?

Firmly, B'Elanna took her wandering thoughts in hand. It really wasn't any of her business, anyway. Ro was part of Tom's past in the Alpha Quadrant, a life he repeatedly denigrated. "My life was a waste back then," Tom had said to her often enough. "Getting captured and landing on Voyager were the luckiest things that ever happened to me. I got lost back there; I found myself out here. And now, I've found you." Surely, these pieces of his past meant little to him now. Shrugging her shoulders to the empty room, B'Elanna tossed them in the "don't keep" pile.

She moved to pick up a leather glove with metal studs on it, thinking that it would look more at home in a Klingon's drawer than her all-too-human husbands, but she hesitated. Her hand wavered back to linger over the two Bajoran objects.

//Maybe I should ask him one more time before I recycle them, no matter what he said this morning. It's not like I hated Ro, or anything. I'd always wished we'd had a chance to get better acquainted--just like she said to me that last day on Malagra. God knows, she was right about not trusting Seska.// Picking up the scarf and earring, B'Elanna put them with those things she thought Tom should pick over before recycling them.

Once she'd done that, B'Elanna was able to finish emptying Tom's drawer in short order. Returning it to the dressing area, she pulled out her own junk drawer and laughed derisively over some of the items she'd stashed in it. Definitely, junk. It's amazing the sort of garbage she'd kept. //And I always thought I was so unsentimental!// she pondered as she went through it. There was little there from her Maquis days, of course. She hadn't had a chance to grab much more than a few things from her quarters on the Zola before being transported to Voyager on that fateful day when the Caretaker's Array had been destroyed. At that, B'Elanna had rescued more than Chakotay. Kurt Bandera had managed to save an old statue and Chakotay's medicine bundle, but virtually all of the rest of the first officer's possessions had been blown to smithereens when the Zola had been sacrificed to save the Ocampa.

B'Elanna straightened suddenly as she said to herself, //The logs. I wonder if Chakotay had time to transfer our logs to Voyager before the Zola blew?// Aloud, she commanded, "Computer, are there any records from the Maquis ship, Zola, in Voyager's database?"

::::Affirmative.:::: replied the computer, as dispassionately and precisely as always. Suppressing a comment about the literalness of Starfleet computers, B'Elanna inquired, "Computer, list the records in the Voyager database that came from the Zola."

::::Voyager's database contains the Zola's official logs and personal logs of all the Zola's crew which are now serving or have ever served on Voyager, navigational charts, and sensor data obtained from Stardate 47547.3 through .::::

"Computer, were any of the logs from the Zola recorded by someone who hasn't ever served on Voyager?"

::::Affirmative.::::

B'Elanna hesitated for a moment. Did she really want to access Ro's logs? After all, she didn't know for a fact that Ro was dead. Yet, almost without conscious thought, B'Elanna heard herself request, "List all log entries made by Ro Laren."

::::Personal logs dated 47959.9 through 48004.1. Official log entries dated 47961.2, 47963.9, 479 . . . ::::

As the computer droned out the list of the Stardates of Ro's official log entries, B'Elanna tried to remember which ones might have been dictated after she'd found Tom. Finally, B'Elanna decided she might as well hear all of Ro's official logs. There was no harm in that. Even Captain Janeway would have no qualms about listening to official logs, although B'Elanna doubted she'd ever bothered. Official logs are just that. Anyone on Voyager had the right to hear them. This was all ancient history now, anyway. Some Starfleet historian writing a book about the destruction of the Maquis movement would probably be the only one interested in these logs now--assuming Voyager made it back to the Alpha Quadrant someday for anyone to get at them.

"Computer, play all of Ro Laren's official logs, in order of their recording."

::::Stardate 47961.2 . . . ::::

The official logs were very--official--unlike a lot of those she'd heard dictated by her fellow Maquis. Even her own had been much more informal than Ro's back in those days--but then, Ro had just defected from Starfleet. She was pretty spit and polish, unlike most of the Maquis. She'd stayed that way until the very end, as far as B'Elanna knew. Crisp, all business, Ro's logs reflected her personality. Virtually all of her entries were strictly factual, recording people and events with perfect objectivity. Even those that took place after Tom's name started to be mentioned were dry and unemotional.

The logs included events that had taken place on The Eye of the Prophet, the little scout ship that was lost with Tom. Ro must have meticulously transferred all of the logs she made on the scout ship to the main memory banks on the Zola at the end of every assignment, except, of course, for that last trip to Delistor, when the little ship had been lost.

It was amusing to hear how Ro managed to convey all of their guerrilla operations without making a single incriminating statements. From Ro's logs, the Zola was an innocent merchant ship, "trading" with the residents and even the Cardassians in the Demilitarized Zone rather than a ship of war. Since B'Elanna had been privy to the actual details of the incidents depicted, she knew the true stories. They were nothing like the bland recitations in Ro's logs. Even Chakotay's weren't so carefully circumspect about the details of their operations in those days.

Ro's official logs weren't only circumspect about the Maquis military operations, either. There was very little about Tom Paris in them. In one of the Delistor entries, she mentioned she'd encountered an old friend, a "skilled pilot," and had invited him to become a member of the Zola's crew. The date that Tom had moved into her quarters on Malagra was also preserved, but not the reason. The final entry that mentioned his name was the one that she recorded on the tajtIq, when they were returning to Malagra with their new ship. Ro simply said that their crew mate Thomas Eugene Paris, who had been assigned to fly The Eye of the Prophet back to their home port, was missing and presumed lost since he'd failed to arrive at the designated rendezvous.

B'Elanna had been present when Ro recorded that last entry. She remembered the sorrowful look on her face, although it was undetectable in the Bajoran's precise, modulated tone of voice as captured in the logs. There was no hint of any personal connection to Tom here--or anywhere else in Ro's logs, for that matter--nothing at all had been recorded of her motives or feelings about being in the Maquis, nor was there any mention about how she felt about Tom's sudden reentry into her life. The only entry that was at all emotional was the last one, made just before they'd landed on Malagra in preparation of their "bugging out" from their base on the small planet in the Terikof belt:

". . . I have found I must resign my association with the Zola and her crew. I will be leaving the ship as soon as we arrive at our destination. I have already booked passage back to Bajor on another vessel. I do not know, at this time, whether I will ever return, but I wish all those dwelling on this ship well . . . ." The voice dictating this last entry quivered with emotion, unlike all of the other entries.

After wishing the crew well, there was a long silence, although the computer didn't state the entry had come to an end.

B'Elanna sighed. There was little here to salve her curiosity, but she found she was reluctant to try to break into Ro's remaining logs. Those were personal. As B'Elanna was about to order the computer to cease playing what was apparently dead air, Ro's voice resumed speaking, quietly saying, "In addition to this last official log entry, which is for all eyes and ears, I wish to let Chakotay, B'Elanna Torres, Lon Suder, and Michael Jonas know there are more complete details about my time on the Zola in my personal logs. I authorize these four people, and also Vedek Bareil Antos, Captain Jean-Luc Picard . . . and . . . and Thomas Eugene Paris . . . if he ever gets the opportunity . . . (a sound intervened at this point, muffling the next few words before Ro continued) . . . want you all to have access to my personal logs. Listen and learn the truth about my time with you here on the Zola and . . . and with Tom Paris. I know there will be lots of speculation and misinformation about our relationship . . . and I . . . I want all of you to know the truth. To access these logs, state your name and say, 'open personal log of Ro Laren, with the authorization of the creator, formerly Lieutenant Ro Laren, U.S.S. Enterprise. End log entry."

After the computer had fallen silent, B'Elanna sat for a long while on her couch. She was stunned. She had carte blanche to find out exactly what she wanted to know about Ro and her relationship with Tom, yet now that she knew she could, B'Elanna was surprised to find she wasn't sure she wanted to know. If Ro had been willing to let her and the others know about the two of them, how much had she actually revealed?

But then again, Ro already knew Tom had been arrested as a traitor and expected his prison sentence to last a very long time. She'd said so, that last day they were on Malagra. Jonas and Suder were both long dead; B'Elanna knew that Ro had held neither in very high regard and wouldn't have expected them to care one way or the other about Tom Paris. This Vedek Bareil and Captain Picard were on the other side of the galaxy now. It wasn't likely they would ever have bothered to listen, either. It was almost as if Ro knew that someday B'Elanna Torres would want to learn about Tom and Ro, even though she couldn't possibly have known what Tom would come to mean to B'Elanna. It was an eerie feeling to think that Ro Laren may have been very frank about her relationship to Tom in her personal logs. By Kahless, B'Elanna herself had been more than merely frank in her personal logs when it came to Tom! No, it was probably better she didn't know.

After several minutes' contemplation, B'Elanna pushed her ungainly, baby-filled body off the couch and attacked her household organizational tasks with renewed zeal. She did her best to keep her mind diverted from all thoughts of personal logs by cleaning out her own junk drawer and consolidating Tom's and her possessions in other storage areas. When she was done, she'd freed up four drawers and a section of one closet for baby clothes. By 1015, B'Elanna stated to the empty quarters, "That'll do it. At least, until we get a chance to build that extra storage locker in the baby's room." She sighed deeply. "So now what do I do?"

Her question to herself wasn't really about which chore to begin next. Despite all her efforts, B'Elanna's curiosity raged unabated. Her thoughts kept returning to the puzzle that could be solved so easily. She had a perfect right to do it, thanks to Ro's generous permission.

She could expect no contact from Tom until 1200, and then, only if the EMH was willing to set him free long enough to come home to quarters for lunch. If she decided to wander around the ship--to Engineering, say--the Doctor and Tom would both harass her. The mess hall was a possibility, but Neelix's tendency to hover over her was more than she could take just now. Astrometrics? Please! The bridge was just as off limits as Engineering. There were no replicator rations to spare for a trip to the holodeck. Tom and B'Elanna needed all the spare credits they could manage to save for baby clothes to fill those drawers she'd spent the last hour or so emptying.

There was one avenue of entertainment open to her. B'Elanna's resistance crumbled. "Computer, access personal logs of Maquis Ro Laren. This is B'Elanna Torres. Open personal log of Ro Laren with the authorization of the creator, formerly Lieutenant Ro Laren, U.S.S. Enterprise. Begin with first entry."

"Personal Log Ro Laren, Stardate 47959.9

"Well, here I am. I think. I've been passed around from cell to cell in the last few days. I can't blame the Maquis for being nervous around me. I was a Starfleet plant, sent to betray their organization. I still could be one, for all they know. I'm not, but they can't know that. It's a good thing I'm not really a Starfleet spy, though. With all the Maquis I've met over the last few days, I know much more about the organization than I should if I really were a spy. Maybe it was a test. I hope it was, for their sakes!

"I'm a little surprised this Chakotay was willing to accept me. I'm not sure I would have under the same circumstances. He's pretty trusting. I'm glad he did, though. I want to help the cause in any way I can.

"This seems to be a pretty decent group. Chakotay runs a tight ship, but then, he was Starfleet, too. He resigned because of the destruction of his home planet, which was in the DMZ, or so I understand.

"I haven't met everyone yet, but Kurt Bendera went out of his way to welcome me. I liked him right away. He reminds me a little of Geordi with that open way he has.

"My fellow Bajoran Seska went out of her way to let me know that Chakotay was taken. If she only knew how little that sort of thing interested me! Nothing against him, of course. Chakotay is a really good soul, I can tell. He'd be great for somebody, just not me. Or Seska, for that matter. I don't know what it is about her, but she makes me really uneasy. I think it's her eyes. They're--unfriendly. Something about the way they stare at me reminds me of my days in the labor camps, and the Cardassian guards I knew when I was young. Strange to think of that now.

"She doesn't make me as uneasy as that Suder guy, though. He really gives me the creeps. With him, I know it's the eyes. Deanna's Betazoid eyes are coal black, but at the same time they are warm when she looks at you. Suder's got the coldest pair of eyes I've ever seen. Bendera told me to stay clear of Suder for a while, until he's gotten used to me. It seems that Suder 'takes offense' easily. That sounds like a good reason to stay clear of him permanently!

"Hogan seems nice, and competent; Jonas seems competent. There's something about him that reminds me of Seska, unfortunately. If I had to pick a team for a mission right now, I'd pick Hogan and Bendera--and that engineer, B'Elanna Torres. Her I'd pick if there was any chance at all that an engineer would be needed--which is just about always. One look at the Zola's engines, and I knew that. Anyone who can pull that pile of crap together and make it run is somebody I'd want on my team.

"I don't have any regrets about being here, not really. It's my own doing. Starfleet put me in a position I thought I could handle. I couldn't. I wish it were different--that the Federation understood what this fight is really all about. I wish I could be on the same side as Picard, instead of on the other side. I already miss Geordi, Data, Worf, Guinan, Dr. Crusher, Troi—even Riker. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on his face when I sabotaged the attack and went over to the Maquis. As much as I'm going to miss them all, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't betray the Maquis, not after seeing Macias killed by the Cardassians right in front of me.

"The Cardassians. They've always tormented me. I wanted to stay in Starfleet, but it wasn't in me to turn my back on these people. So here I am. Maybe I was always meant to be a renegade. It sure seems that's the way my life has gone. I hope I've finally found a place where I can find peace of mind. Maybe the middle of a desperate struggle for survival is a strange place for that, but battles and me, we've always seemed to attract one another. By the Prophets, I'm used to fighting! As long as I'm not fighting my conscience any more, I'll be all right, no matter how it all ends.

"End personal log."

After hearing Ro's praise of her Engineering skills, B'Elanna gave no more thought of doing anything that morning other than peeking into the mind of Ro Laren, the possibly alive, possibly dead Maquis warrior and Starfleet turncoat. She listened to entry after entry. The earliest were filled with Ro's impressions of her fellow cell members. She was pleased to hear even more evidence that Ro deeply respected B'Elanna's abilities as an engineer and as a person. It was just as B'Elanna had always thought. Ro had accepted B'Elanna totally as she was, even more than B'Elanna had in those days.

=/\=

The Bajoran's perceptiveness as exemplified by her comments about Chakotay, Seska, Jonas, and Suder turned out to be true of her characters sketches of the rest of the Maquis cell members, too. Ro seemed to have an uncommon ability to see into the motives of those around her. Ro had had the potential to be a fine leader. It was too bad she probably never had the chance to fulfill that destiny. B'Elanna also knew that Ro was correct in her assumption that she wasn't fully trusted by the rest of the Maquis. Hearing Ro return again and again to her feelings about her agonizing decision to defect from Starfleet saddened B'Elanna. 

It was fascinating to hear Ro's take on their mission to salvage the Klingon freighter abandoned on Delistor and gratifying to hear Ro complain about Suder and Jonas. Ro had demanded that B'Elanna be assigned, too. "By the Prophets! If I have to put up with only Suder and Jonas, it will never get done! I need somebody who knows what she's doing!"

Finally, in an entry from a trip to Delistor, the name she'd wanted to hear was mentioned.

". . . Tom Paris. I couldn't believe it. How by all that's holy had Tom found his way here? Now that I've got him lying naked in my bed, it's not hard to figure out how he got here. He's been knocking around a lot since he destroyed his career at Caldik Prime. Not eating much, from the way his ribs are almost poking out through his skin, and from the smell of his breath, he's been drinking way too much, too.

"Those two thieving bastards tried to kick him to death, but I think he'll be all right. I guess I got into port just in time. I wish I'd thought to bring a medical kit with me to the boarding house, but who knew I'd need one? I should've known better. The streets of Delistor aren't safe for the ordinary visitor, even if 'Vedek Larys' is. I'll see about getting one from one of the ships tomorrow. Calling in a doctor this late at night might jeopardize Torres and the others if I should be recognized. They'd be stuck here, and might get caught, too. The less attention I draw to myself, the better off we'll all be. Tom doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger. I'll see what more I can do for him tomorrow.

"Prophets, though, it's good to see Tom's friendly face, even if he is looking so scrawny! End log entry."

"Naked in my bed." B'Elanna felt her gorge rise but firmly forced it down. This was no time for jealousy. She hadn't known Tom then. She had no right to feel jealous—although B'Elanna did, no matter how hard she tried not to be. After only a moment of hesitation, she called for the next entry to find out what had happened next.

". . . Tom's still sound asleep, so I have a chance to catch up with my log entries.

"When he woke up yesterday morning, we had a chance to chat about a few things. After dinner, we talked some more. It's just as I suspected. He's been doing lots of boozing and not much eating. Not synthehol, either. The real stuff. From some of the things he said, I'm willing to bet he's been doing even more whoring than boozing--although he didn't mention that to me, of course. He's not so far gone he'd do that.

"Tom's a pretty bitter guy right now, but I understand how that goes. I went through it when I was in prison on Jaros. I think he's going to get over it, though. He took the news about me being in the Maquis better than I thought.

"Poor Tom. He hoped that since I got a second chance from Picard, somehow, someday, he'd get a second chance at Starfleet, too. I'm sorry there's not much chance of that. My giving up my commission the way I did was a tough blow to him. Thankfully, there's a . . . a kind of resilience he has, I guess you'd say. Deep down inside, he's still Tom, the best friend I ever had. The only friend I ever had, until the Enterprise. But I don't want to think about that now. I only want to think about him getting well.

"It was strange, sharing a bed with Tom. It's not something I've done much of, hardly ever, in fact. I expected him to roll around a lot, but he didn't. He hardly groaned at all, even though he must have been uncomfortable with those bruises all over his stomach. It was . . . kind of nice, actually. He was the perfect gentleman--not that I expected him to act any differently. He knows what the Cardassians did to me. He would never do anything to upset me.

"The thing is, I'm not sure I'd mind if he did . . . start something. For a long time I've wondered if there could ever be anything like that between us. Never thought I'd see him again to find out. Now, since Riker and me, I don't know. I think I could. After all, he's the best friend I ever had. From the time I first met him at the Academy, he's been completely trustworthy. He's accepted me as I am--even the sarcasm and anger that come out when I least expect it. He's always encouraged me. I've been able to tell him the most horrible things, and he's listened with compassion. He's helped me in every way he could, whether it was to give me a home and family to spend holidays with or comforting me when I spewed out my venom and my . . . my pain about the Cardassians and all their vile works. Despite that brittle shell of 'I don't care' he wears to protect himself since Caldik Prime, I can see right through him to that big, soft heart of his. It's still there. Tom has always been kind and considerate. If I couldn't make love with him, there truly is no hope for me.

"End log entry."

"Computer, repeat last log entry," B'Elanna said, not sure she'd heard what she'd thought she'd heard. She listened very carefully the second time.

There didn't seem to be much doubt. Ro had said making love might upset her. That the Cardassians had "done something" to her. Something "vile." If Ro was reluctant to sleep with a man-- in a sexual sense, that was obviously what she was saying, not just sharing a bed the way she had with Tom--then it wasn't hard to figure out she must have been raped by Cardassians.

Now the Federation was at war with them again, with the help of some Gamma Quadrant race, these "Dominions." Just one more reason for B'Elanna to hate them--as if the murder of her friends and the atrocities they'd committed against the settlers in DMZ hadn't been enough! B'Elanna's distrust and hatred of them, always simmering just beneath the surface of her barely controlled temper, boiled over.

Breathing deeply, B'Elanna tried to calm herself. It was difficult. Much as she tried to prevent it, visions of the aftermath of what the Cardassians had done to people who only wished to live in peace—to visions of her friends lying tortured and murdered—sprang again to mind. Roberto. Atara. M'Cort. Savrigs. All of them, gone forever. Sveta's letter to Chakotay had listed the names of their friends that she had seen killed before her eyes. The list of those who, like Sveta, languished in Federation prisons was so much shorter, but she knew she mustn't let herself get too emotional. The EMH had warned her. It wasn't good for the baby or for B'Elanna herself, for that matter. 

For the next few minutes, B'Elanna concentrated on establishing self-control with the help of the labor and delivery breathing pattern exercises the EMH had insisted she learn. B'Elanna was surprised when they actually worked. She thanked Kahless--and maybe Ro's Bajoran Prophets, too--for helping her to calm down. //This baby really is a blessing. The very thought of her can make me remember what's really important.// B'Elanna sighed, recovering her equilibrium at last.

Should she continue to listen? It was clear now that she was eavesdropping on someone's most intimate thoughts. It amazed her that Ro would have given her leave to listen to what she was hearing. Maybe she simply forgot how revealing some of her entries were when she granted permission for others to listen to them. Or perhaps Ro had had a premonition that she wouldn't live much longer and wanted someone to know what she'd suffered. Still, if Ro was alive, B'Elanna doubted she would be privy to them. Then again, if they'd had the chance to become friends if Ro had stayed with the cell, she may have told B'Elanna much or even all of what was in her logs. And the part about that soft heart of Tom's beneath a shell of "I don't care"--B'Elanna had to smile at how accurate that was.

Shaking her head at her own ambivalence, she decided to tell the computer to end its recitation. That would be the right thing to do, to stop invading the privacy of a woman who was probably long dead. Stumbling over the word, "Computer," several times and hesitating, however, B'Elanna ordered the computer to "resume" instead.

She listened to several entries in a row recording facts which B'Elanna already knew about their mission on Delistor. But it was fascinating to hear Ro's slant on the incidents. There was a lot more about her distrust of Michael Jonas and her unease with Lon Suder and confirmation that she'd trusted both Tom and B'Elanna, more evidence of Ro's excellent judgment of character.

Tom was mentioned when "Vedek Larys" procured him clothing to wear because she'd thrown out the ones ripped to shreds by his attackers. B'Elanna laughed when Ro said that Tom was leaving Delistor with her on The Eye of the Prophet dressed as a Bajoran religious man. Tom, the aspiring vedek! The very idea was hysterically funny.

Tom had agreed to join the Maquis as a pilot, if he could get paid for it, but when B'Elanna found herself remembering that last day with Ro, she realized he was a mercenary only so he could pay his debts. When she heard Ro describe Chakotay's initial reaction to Tom, B'Elanna shook her head in dismay at how blind Chakotay had been about what he was really like:

". . . Chakotay doesn't trust Tom. He thinks I made a mistake bringing him back to our base. He thinks he's a spy! That's pretty funny. I know for a fact that Tom has been knocking around for the past few years, since the truth came out about the deaths at Caldik Prime. Chakotay must have heard about Tom's disgrace before her gave up his Starfleet commission. Did he really think Starfleet would know they would need a spy to infiltrate the Maquis then, before there was a Maquis to infiltrate?

"I don't want to think about that too closely. It would mean the Federation knew all along they would sacrifice the colony worlds to the Cardassians, that they'd anticipated a rebellion, and they'd refuse to back their own citizens in the dispute. I can't bring myself to believe Starfleet is that duplicitous. Besides, I always know when Tom is kidding or lying--even when it's himself he's lying or kidding. Tom's the least likely 'secret agent' I can imagine. He can't hide the truth. Those blue eyes of his can't hide anything like that from me.

"One thing I'm not happy about, though. I've been trying to convince Chakotay to trust Tom, but he isn't making it easy for me. He's been flirting with every woman he's seen in Malagra since he arrived. He's been disappearing with some of them, too, and doing a lot more than just flirting, I'm sure. He was at the bar with Alana this afternoon. He went off with that slut, too. Seska made sure I knew that. He's probably at the Latinum Shrine right now, picking up someone to sleep with tonight.

"I know I shouldn't let this bother me. He's just digging his own grave . . . failing again when he could be making something of himself . . . it's his life. If he wants to waste it on sex and booze, he's got a right to do it. It's his choice to waste it if he . . . .

"Damn! Who am I kidding? I can't take it anymore. He's been my friend for a long time--my only friend, for too many years. By the Prophets! I know he's better than this! I'm going to go to that bar and drag him back here and talk some sense into him . . . or else. If he won't listen to reason, then fine. He can go to the Pah-Wraiths, if he wants. I won't defend him before Chakotay anymore. The hell with him. But I've got to try, just once more. I owe him that much, for the sake of all he did for me back at the Academy. End log entry."

The next log entry was dated two full days later.

"Sweet Prophets, thank you! You've blessed me. I will always be grateful for all Your gifts to me, but for Tom, most of all. You've been leading me to him all my life, only I was too stupid to see that before now. I should have realized when You sent me on the path to the Academy and set Tom before me from the very beginning that he and I were meant to be together.

"Tom is everything I always imagined a lover should be—or what I could imagine, once I was able to think about having a lover without feeling revolted. I should thank Will Riker for that, at least. He let me know what it was like to be with a man who cared as much for what I was feeling as he did when we had sex. No, made love. Saying 'had sex' is so clinical. Tom and I make love. Share each other's bodies. He's made me appreciate, finally, what it means to Honor the Prophets and Their Gifts.

"He's gentle, and kind, and compassionate, and, and . . . giving. I guess that's it. It's funny how often 'give' and 'gift' come up when I'm talking about this, but I guess that's what it really is all about, isn't it? We give each other our bodies to bring pleasure to each other, receiving pleasure ourselves in return. Reciprocal. It's such a simple concept. An obvious concept! But it's not something I really understood before Tom . . . gave this to me. There's that word again. Or maybe he's just the instrument You've sent me so that I could understand.

"All I know is that he's a kind and good man, more than he even realizes himself. Maybe I can help him see that, too--the gift I can give him, in return for all he's done for me. I owe him so much for the joy he's brought me, just as I owe You all honor and praise for sending us on the same path.

"I guess I should give credit to all those women who came before me. They taught him well. He's good at making love. He may have been using sex to help forget what a mess his life had become, but he never took them for granted. A couple of the women here came to me today to tell me how lucky I am! Sela Evaluon even said she was sorry I got to him before she'd had a chance to be with him at least once. And here I thought I was doing her a favor keeping him away from her because I thought she was such an innocent!

"I never knew my body could feel the way he makes it feel. Riker was good, I know, but I guess it's true--what I've always suspected--if you really love someone, you can get past bad memories, like the ones I've got, and really let yourself go.

"I know I'll never forget everything that the Cardassians did to me, but Tom's been very good about reading me. When I do get a flashback of the old days, he always picks up on it, asks me if I'm all right, stops whatever he's doing, and holds me for a while until I'm okay. I know he hasn't done some things with me that a man and a woman usually do together, but he's not pushing me. He says he knows I've been forced enough times in my life. He'll only do what I'm ready for.

"I hope someday there's nothing I won't be afraid to do. With the help of the Prophets, I have faith that time will come soon--when I will be able to give myself, body and soul, to him, without any reservations. End log entry."

"Pause," B'Elanna called out to the empty room. Ro's voice ceased, yet B'Elanna felt her presence within the room. Clumsily pushing herself off the couch, B'Elanna walked over to the viewport of their quarters and looked out into the vastness of space. From where their quarters were located, the Alpha Quadrant was in the far right corner of the opening. The stars she knew--the stars that Tom and Ro had known--were in that direction.

Emotions roiled within B'Elanna, yet jealousy and anger were no longer paramount. She couldn't totally exclude them, of course; she felt twinges of both, but overriding them was pity. Ro Laren, had seemed so strong to B'Elanna, but she had harbored a terrible secret, so personal that only one person had apparently ever been privy to it. Tom Paris, Ro Laren's "only friend, for so many years," she'd said, if B'Elanna remembered it correctly. Tom had been Ro's best friend and lover long before he'd been B'Elanna's husband, long before he'd encouraged a half-Klingon who had deeply denied her Klingon heritage to embrace her heritage, because it was part of her, and she needed it.

B'Elanna had looked up to the Bajoran during the short time they had been acquainted. Ro left the Maquis after Tom Paris had been captured, and B'Elanna had been unable to understand why Ro had been so upset by Tom's capture she would abandon the cause. B'Elanna knew they'd been lovers, of course--Seska had made sure to tell B'Elanna that, too, just as she'd been so eager to tell Ro of Tom's dalliances. At the time, she'd believed all that Seska had said about Tom. When she'd seen Ro's heartbreak when she was packing to leave, B'Elanna hadn't thought Tom was worth Ro's tears.

Now, of course, she knew how right Ro had been. Tom had been worth every bit of Ro's anguished weeping. Seska had been the one who had been wrong about Tom, assuming she hadn't deliberately misrepresented him. Now that Seska had been revealed to be Cardassian, B'Elanna couldn't be sure which it was. It was clear to B'Elanna now, just as it had been to Ro back then, that Tom's sexual promiscuity was the way he'd coped with loneliness, trying to ignore all those empty tomorrows looming before him when his future had been bleak and without direction.

B'Elanna remembered the shock she'd felt when she found out her handsome Starfleet rescuer from the Ocampan tunnels and Ro Laren's supposedly no-good boyfriend were one and the same person. She'd even called him a pig to his face one night in Sandrine's, right after he'd created the program during their first months on Voyager. She'd taken such pleasure at the hurt look that crossed his face when she'd hurled that epithet at him. Now, the very thought of the pain she'd inflicted brought an ashamed blush to her cheeks.

Her husband might have acted like a pig back then, but he hadn't really been one. He'd had a relationship or two, but there had been nothing callous about the way he'd treated his partners on Voyager. Tom Paris may have wrapped himself in a cloak of feigned indifference, mingled with equal parts of sarcasm and hedonism, whenever he needed to defend himself from the rest of the galaxy, but he'd never abandoned what really mattered. He'd always been considerate, giving, caring. All those qualities that Ro had related--B'Elanna had discovered them, too. It may have taken her longer to see what Ro had seen in him, but eventually, B'Elanna had seen it, too.

Sighing, B'Elanna again considered the advisability of continuing to listen to Ro's logs, but this time her hesitation lasted only a matter of seconds. She would listen to Ro Laren's logs to the bitter end. At least B'Elanna already knew the unhappy ending of their love affair. She'd been there when it happened.

=/\=

"Mr. Paris? Are you listening to me?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry, Doc."

"Are you certain B'Elanna was in satisfactory condition when you left her this morning?"

"She said she was, but you know B'Elanna. She'll probably be in labor for hours before admitting it."

The EMH arched his brow and looked askance at his assistant's flippant remark before reconsidering. "I'd like to say you're wrong about that, Mr. Paris, but you're probably quite right. Perhaps you should check on her. It's almost 1300 hours. And, much as it pains me to break the momentum of your medical studies, I believe you are due a lunch break."

Tom smiled at the holographically produced physician. "Thanks, Doc. I was beginning to wonder if you wanted to see how long I could go without a meal before fainting from hunger."

"Hrumph. Sometimes in the medical profession, one cannot afford to stop treating patients just because the chronometer says it's mealtime. Since we have everything under control here, however, I believe I can let you go for an hour or so. Don't push it!"

Pointedly looking around Sickbay, totally empty except for the EMH and his assistant, Tom agreed, "Yeah, we've been really busy today, haven't we?"

"Go, Mr. Paris, before I change my mind."

"Gone, Doc. See you in an hour." Tom hustled out the door. If he stopped by the mess hall to pick up something to bring back to their quarters--assuming anything on the menu today was edible--it would save rations for something they'd need later for the baby.

=/\=

". . . I finally talked Chakotay into giving Tom his first mission today. He'll be coming along with me to pick up our refitted trading vessel. I'm happy he'll be with me, but I'm sorry that Chakotay still doesn't trust him. He still thinks Tom's a spy. He said something about how Tom's 'cure' might be worse than my 'disease.'

"For somebody who knows what the Cardassians have done to the settlers in the DMZ, Chakotay has a real blind spot about what it was like to live on Bajor, especially for an orphan like me. There's almost an innocence about him. I'm surprised that Seska hasn't filled him in more, but then, Seska and I aren't exactly the best of buddies. I sometimes think she must have been a collaborator during the Occupation who's joined us now to make up for her lapse in judgment. The less I see of her, the better.

"I've got to be careful how I break this to Tom, though. I wonder if I should tell him I told Chakotay I wanted him with me because he was so good in bed, I didn't want to miss a single night! He might laugh, or he might be offended that I put it that way. Especially since I put it a lot more crudely than that!

"We'll be leaving tomorrow morning . . . "

"Computer, halt! B'Elanna! What the hell are you doing?"

Her husband's voice startled her so much that B'Elanna propelled herself off the sofa without a struggle for the first time in over two months. "Tom . . ." she began, but the anger suffusing his normally calm and benevolent face stunned her into silence.

The tray he'd been carrying crashed onto the table vehemently. "I asked you what the hell are you doing, prying into someone's personal logs!"

The injustice of his remark prodded her into an angry outburst of her own. "I'm not prying! I have express permission to listen to these logs!"

"Permission! Don't lie to me, B'Elanna! How can Ro give you permission to go into her logs when she's not here? Can't you let the woman rest in peace?"

B'Elanna started to gasp out another angry retort, but caught herself. Instead, with an icy coldness, she ordered, "Computer, play the final section of Ro Laren's last official log, recorded the day she left the Maquis. Begin right after the long pause, a few minutes before the ending." 

Tom opened his mouth to object, but the computer complied with B'Elanna's command before he could emit a coherent word. As soon as Ro's voice came over the speakers, Tom moaned softly, but he didn't interrupt.

". . . I wish to let Chakotay, B'Elanna Torres, Lon Suder, and Michael Jonas know there are more complete details about my time on the Zola and with her crew to be found in my personal logs. I authorize these four people, and also Vedek Bareil Antos, Captain Jean-Luc Picard . . . and . . . and Thomas Eugene Paris . . . if he ever gets the opportunity . . . . I want you all to have access to my personal logs . . . ."

The air of their quarters, ablaze with suppressed anger before the voice of the Bajoran floated out of cyberspace, became almost funereal by the time her voice had ceased. At the point that Ro's voice broke after saying his name, Tom sank to the sofa, his hands covering his eyes. For several seconds after the words "End log entry" brought silence, B'Elanna watched her husband as he sat motionless, as if he were still listening to the voice that had ceased. Finally, Tom removed his hands and she could see his expression. He was dry-eyed, but his features were distorted by pain.

Tom was seldom speechless; he was now. When B'Elanna finally spoke, her voice reverberated in the air loudly, even though she deliberately pitched her voice low and as soft as she could. "Tom, I didn't listen to anything I didn't have the right to hear. You see? I just wanted to know a little about what Ro might have said about you in her official logs, but there wasn't much there. And I . . . I guess I needed to remember those days in the Maquis, too . . . so many of my friends are gone, now . . . " B'Elanna's voice broke as she was unable to keep her composure. The faces of the lost appeared again in her mind's eye, and she was unable to continue.

Tom hesitantly approached his wife and wrapped her up in his arms as she sobbed into his shoulder. B'Elanna clutched folds of his tunic top tightly in her fists, drawing comfort from the solidity of his presence. When she could speak again, she said, "I won't listen to it any more if it upsets you."

At that, Tom breathed out a solitary, sad chuckle as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "I don't seem to be the only one who's upset."

She smiled a little and rested her cheek against his chest. The heart beat resonating beneath her ear calmed her. "I know. I just . . . I guess there's unfinished business between Ro and me. I believed all of Seska's lies about you, even though Ro told me you weren't like that. I was so stupid. And now . . . "

" . . . you've found out that Ro had very good taste in friends?" he finished for her when B'Elanna's pause threatened to last an uncomfortably long time.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she agreed. "She did. She had a pretty good idea of who to trust and not to trust. Did I ever tell you she warned me I shouldn't listen to Seska because she was a snake who'd betray us someday?"

"Ouch! No! You're right, Ro always could see right through people. I'm glad she didn't give up on me on Malagra. You could have called me a pig to my face there, B'Elanna, and it would have been the absolute truth. I'd have had no defense at all." With the last of her tears wiped away, his hands moved back to stroke her hair. B'Elanna shuddered as she pulled herself back together after her crying jag.

While still stroking her hair, Tom leaned back enough to study her face. Not wanting to renew her distress, he carefully asked her, "Are you sure it's a good idea for you to listen to these now, B'Elanna? So soon after Chakotay's news from Sveta?"

"I don't really know, Tom. I keep remembering Sveta's news no matter what I do. I think this is something I just have to do." B'Elanna brushed her hand along his cheek, not knowing what more to say. His eyes looked haunted, and he had trouble meeting her gaze. Finally she sighed again and asked him, "So, you want to have some lunch now?"

Grimacing a smile, Tom shook his head. "I'm not hungry, but I'll sit down with you and keep you company. You should eat something."

He was as good as his word, although not many of them were spoken during the meal. Tom's mind seemed far away. While at first B'Elanna felt better having him near her while she ate, her mood worsened as she began to wonder just how much Tom still felt for the Bajoran woman, as deeply affected as he seemed to be simply from hearing her recorded voice. Several times she wanted to ask him what he had felt for Ro, but the words died in her mouth.

She felt a little better when Tom got up to leave. After arranging his body in the perfect position to avoid leaning too heavily upon her baby-filled abdomen, he kissed his wife with a passion and intensity that warmed her thoroughly.

As she began to clear the dishes into the recycler, however, his next question chilled her again. "You're not going to listen to the rest of them, are you?" There was no doubt what "them" might be.

Sadly, she shrugged her shoulders. "I've heard most of them now anyway, I think. I might as well see it to the end."

There was a long, very pregnant pause, which passed while Tom wiped down the table for her while she finished disposing of the dishes. At last, he inquired, "How far are you?" 

"The one I was listening to when you came in is the last one she dictated before you left Malagra to come to Delistor. Remember, when you brought us the last of the parts to fix the tajtIq?"

"How could I forget?" he responded grimly.

She looked back at him contritely. "I'm sorry, Tom. I just meant . . . well, anyway, I think it's the last one. There weren't any official logs after that until after you . . . I mean . . . "

He rescued her. "Yeah. That's how it would be. Anything recorded after we left Malagra would have been in The Eye's data banks and lost when I was captured."

"Tom, do you really want me to stop listening to them?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Ro gave you her blessing, B'Elanna. It's up to you. If you think you can handle it okay, then go ahead. I don't have the right to tell you to stop."

"She gave you permission to listen, too. She must have had a reason, something she wanted you to hear . . ."

"Not me. Sorry. I already know what happened," Tom shook his head, a shadow crossing his face. 

She looked away, disappointed, even though she could understand how he felt. These memories were painful, even for her. It was too much to expect him to share them with her, that was obvious. His arms coming around her to hug her from the back interrupted her ruminations. He murmured into her ear as his hands slipped protectively over her stomach, "B'Elanna, listen if you must. I don't want to hear what she said about me--especially if she was as explicit as you get in your logs . . ."

"If you didn't eavesdrop on me, you wouldn't have to worry about how explicit they are!" His gentle teasing raised her spirits.

"Okay. I can take a hint. From now on I'll just roll over and pretend I'm still asleep whenever you're recording your logs."

"Pretend is about right!" she snorted, caressing the beautiful hands resting on her belly. She always felt so safe when his arms were around her, from any angle. That it might not be a comfort for some people to feel the arms of a lover around them was terribly depressing. Was that how it had been for Ro, because of the Cardassians? Turning, she took a deep breath to ask him about it when she noticed a gleam of liquid glittering in his eyes. She didn't bother to ask her question. Now was not the time.

Catching up her hands in his, he kissed them and said, huskily, "I'd better go. You know the Doc."

"Yeah, I know," she replied.

He gave her a brief kiss and was gone.

For several minutes, B'Elanna stood where she was, watching the doorway and wishing he'd come back even as she churned over the pros and cons of what to do. Tom wanted to pretend the logs didn't exist. His relationship with Ro was a part of his past that he wanted to keep buried, along with so many other ghosts. She understood; but in this, Tom's desires were diametrically opposed to hers.

When she'd begun to explore the logs of the Zola, she'd merely been curious about Ro and Tom. Now, she was far beyond simple curiosity. Somehow, the ill-fated love affair of Tom and Ro had become a first-person account of loss, connected in B'Elanna's mind to the death of her friends back home and of the Maquis movement itself. A part of her wanted to leave it all buried, too, but another part knew that she couldn't let it go. She had to see it through to the bitter ending. Not until then would she be able to set this behind her--and perhaps set behind the loss of so many others she would never see again.

Recognizing and accepting that this was something she had to do, B'Elanna settled herself in the corner of her sofa. Firmly, she stated, "Computer, resume . . ."

=/\=

Thanks to the Doctor's plea for "just a few more minutes of your time, Mr. Paris," Tom didn't reach the door to their quarters until almost 1800. Seeing the rooms in total darkness, Tom slowed his step as he entered, thinking B'Elanna must have gone to the mess hall without him. When he was about to call for 50% illumination, however, he sensed someone in the main seating area. Biting back the command just as he opened his mouth, Tom stood just within the doorway and gave his eyes a chance to adjust to the dimness. In the faint light given off by the stars sliding by the open viewport, he could just barely see her.

She was sitting at the end of the sofa, her head cradled in her right hand, elbow propped on the arm of the sofa, feet curled up beneath her. He wondered if she might have fallen asleep sitting up, the way he'd found her a few months ago. That time, only her regular breathing let him know she had passed out from pregnancy-induced fatigue. Her breathing was not completely even this time. As he moved further into the room, her head swung around in his direction.

"Hey," he called out softly.

"Hey," she answered, her voice equally subdued.

"Lights, 25%," he said as he approached her. "Why are you sitting here in the dark, B'Elanna?"

"It suits my mood."

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. Sitting down beside his wife, he put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. Despite the low light, he could see just how red her eyes were. B'Elanna didn't cry often, but when she did, she did a good job of it. "You want to tell me about it?"

"I didn't think you wanted to hear anything from Ro's logs."

"I don't," he said honestly. "If they made you this upset, I know I'd rather skip them."

"Oh, it's not just hearing the logs, Tom. It's all the memories coming back to me while I'm listening to them. I keep seeing them all the way they were the last time I saw them, alive, vital. And then I envision them lying dead, their bodies scattered around in some lonely cavern. Or I think of them blown to atoms floating in space somewhere . . ."

As B'Elanna broke down and sobbed into his shoulder, he rubbed her back and murmured, "It's okay. I'm here." She relaxed gratefully into his arms and let out the pent up emotions of the past few hours as he wordlessly comforted her with his presence.

A few minutes later, after the tears had stopped, he casually suggested, "Interested in a trip to the mess hall for some dinner, Chief? I understand Neelix has agreed to cook at least one edible thing for every meal each night."

"Edible to you, maybe," she mumbled, struggling to smile.

"I'm sure he'll have just the right thing for a woman in a delicate condition. And if not, I'll con him into replicating the right thing for you. I have it on good authority there'll be only good company there tonight."

"The Borg's on duty?" she asked suspiciously.

"Better yet. The Doc ordered her to go into her regeneration chamber early tonight and stay there for an extra four hours, minimum. She needs to make up for the time she missed while she was held captive by the Hirogen. So, it'll be just Harry and us. He said he'd hold the table until 1830. If we hurry, we can still catch him."

"All right. Let me splash some cold water on my eyes first. Some Klingon I am, the way I cry all the time."

Tom smiled encouragingly at her. Helping her up from her awkward position on the sofa, he walked her out of their sitting area and up to the doorway of their bathroom. In seconds, the sound of splashing water floated out of their sanitary cubicle.

Tom was not there to hear it. He had moved over to the viewport to gaze out into the darkness, his eyes focused on infinity.

=/\=

"I'd just about given up on the two of you. I was going to leave," Harry Kim said as they walked over, trays in hand. "Maqu . . . B'Elanna. You're looking great."

"Mama B'Elanna does look smashing tonight, doesn't she?" Tom agreed.

Flashing a grateful smile to Tom for helping him cover up his careless, stumbling faux pas, Harry pulled out a chair and helped B'Elanna sit down. Calling her by his pet name for her today could only have caused her pain, but it had almost slipped out anyway, from sheer habit. "You know, you look like that baby is going to pop out any second now."

"I hope so. Then I can get back to Engineering," she said sharply. "Are you keeping Carey and Nicoletti in line down there, Harry?"

"I'm doing my best. You know how rowdy they can get."

"Carey? Nicoletti? Rowdy???" B'Elanna sputtered a laugh.

"Seriously--Carey and Nicoletti really are taking very good care of your warp core. Don't worry about a thing," Harry assured. "Although they did say I should ask you about a slight phase variance in the plasma injectors they've picked up if I saw you . . ."

Her spirits seemed to revive as they talked shop for the next hour. A few times they skated close to thin ice. It wasn't because of anything that was said by the three of them, but several times, the subject of the messages was discussed loudly enough for them to hear it at nearby tables.

When the conversation behind them between Ensign Golwat and Chell turned to the contents of her message from home, Harry realized that Tom's sudden increase in volume was his attempt at obscuring what the others were discussing at the other table. When Tabor and Gerron, two of the Bajorans on board, toasted "Lost friends, lost heroes" in bold voices a few minutes later, Harry saw Tom flick his eyes towards his wife to gauge her reaction. There was a sudden intake of breath and a pause in her lecture to Harry about the proper way to align magnetic constrictors, but she picked up the thread of her instruction almost immediately. Harry caught on and did his part, responding earnestly and pulling her along in technical directions, safely away from the dangerous, emotional ones.

By the time they were all enjoying the fruit Harry recommended by taking another piece himself and mumbling, "I'm really full, but they're so good," Harry was feeling confident that the worst was over. The mess hall was emptying, and the few who were left were sitting quite far away from them.

And then she said it.

"So, Harry. Did you tell Tom what yours said?"

"Pardon, B'Elanna?" he responded, slightly flustered.

"Don't give us that, Harry. You know what I asked you. Did you share your message from home with Tom?"

Harry shot a look of despair in Tom's direction. "No, I . . . I didn't."

"Why not? Wasn't it good news?"

"I didn't think he'd want to know, B'Elanna, since his got lost."

B'Elanna turned to Tom, who was looking very determinedly at a spot on the edge of the table. "Do you mind talking about this, Tom? It's been just about the only topic of conversation anyone has talked about in here all night."

"I don't know what . . . " Harry's attempt at lying didn't even make it to the end of the sentence.

"Yes, you do, Harry," she insisted.

Reluctantly, Harry acquiesced. "It was from my parents. You know that. You're the one that downloaded it. They were delighted to find out that they were right to be stubborn when they insisted their only son wasn't dead, even after they got official word I was from Starfleet."

"That's wonderful, Harry. They're well, then?" Tom said quickly.

"Oh, yeah. They're great. Nothing much else, really. Some news about some people I know. Nothing special."

"I'll bet it was special to you, though," B'Elanna persisted.

"Sure, but . . . B'Elanna, I've been trying not to burden Tom—or you--with my good news. It doesn't seem fair to gloat when yours . . . wasn't so good."

She hesitated a moment before saying, "I'm happy for you, Starfleet. I'm glad you heard from your parents. It's good to know that someone got good news!"

"Well, I did, B'Elanna. I'm . . . I'm sorry that it didn't work out for the two of you to get any messages."

"Hey, you know, it's really getting late. I think we should head out. What do you say, B'Elanna?" Tom began to consolidate his dirty dishes and B'Elanna's onto a single tray. 

"Tom, sit down. I'm not going to start to cry again, or anything. Harry, really, I didn't expect to get any messages from home, so it didn't really bother me. Tom, stop looking at me like that. It really didn't bother me!"

Clearing her throat, B'Elanna said to Harry, who felt and looked stricken, "I really don't mind about not getting a letter. Chakotay's news upset me enough. I admit that. That's why Tom's hovering over me like a mother hen."

"I'm sorry about what happened," Harry offered.

She dipped her head to acknowledge her friend's condolences. "It got me thinking about some of my friends and what happened, and I, uh, I listened to some of the Maquis logs that are in Voyager's database today. And . . . I kind of look at that as my own 'letter from home.' So, I got a little . . . emotional . . . this afternoon."

Tom's rolling eyes were a very broad hint that B'Elanna had been more than a "little upset," but Harry knew better than to push the issue. "I see. Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, having dinner with you two helped a lot."

"Always glad to be of service," Harry said sincerely. "But I think maybe I really should go now. I've got to be on the bridge early tomorrow. See you on the bridge tomorrow, Tom?"

"Oh, yeah. The Doc had me all to himself today. I can't wait to get my hands on the helm controls again!"

"See you tomorrow, then. Good night, B'Elanna." Harry picked up his tray and retreated to the recycler, feeling as guilty for leaving Tom in the lurch as he did happy to be leaving B'Elanna in his care. //Tom can handle it,// Harry rationalized. //I only wish Kes were still around to help us through all this. She always knew the right thing to say.// The happiness Harry felt over hearing from his parents was obscured by the flood of misery washing over him at the memory of his lost love.

=/\=

After they'd said their good-byes to Harry, Tom turned to B'Elanna and whispered, "I think we should probably get home, too."

"Sure . . . Tom?"

"Yes?" he drawled as they walked out into the corridor.

"Tom, you do have a 'message from home.' From Ro. She left a message for you."

He took a slight misstep, then shrugged his shoulders. "I thought she might, the way that 'permission' message went."

"You should listen to what she has to say," B'Elanna insisted.

"I'll think about it," he said, in the tone he used when he had no intention of doing any such thing.

"Fine. Be that way!" she exploded, storming down the corridor.

It was amazing how fast B'Elanna could still move, despite the fact that she was walking for two. At first Tom was simply going to let her go, but when she almost knocked Tuvok over and did bump solidly into Larson, who was doing his best to jump out of her way, Tom couldn't hold himself back. He called out, "B'Elanna! Wait!" and ran after her to stop her before she had a chance to damage herself or anyone else.

He caught up to her just before she was going to step into the turbolift. "Let go of me or I'll break something!" she grunted between clenched teeth.

"Probably your own head, the way you just went crashing down the corridor!"

"Fine. I won't run anymore." She twisted her face away, but not before he saw, beneath her seething anger, a hint of a much graver emotion.

"B'Elanna, I don't get it. Why can't you leave this alone? Ro's message to me is more than four years old. Ancient history. Sometimes it's better just to leave the past in the past." Tom smiled at B'Elanna he what he hoped she would interpret as a conciliatory manner.

"Afraid what your reaction will be?" B'Elanna snapped.

"Afraid of my reaction? What are you talking about?"

B'Elanna tore away from his hold and stomped into the turbolift. She barked out "Deck 9" so quickly, the door almost closed on Tom's foot as he leaped inside.

"Halt, Turbolift! B'Elanna, what's going on?" he demanded; but just as suddenly, he called her name and softly touched her cheeks, where rivulets of tears had appeared.

She put her hands up as if to ward away his touch. Relenting, she grabbed him by the wrists, saying, with a catch in her voice, "I just . . . I wonder if you don't want to listen to her voice because . . . you wish she was here with you instead of me."

"B'Elanna! How can you possibly believe that? I love you! Don't you know that yet?"

"You don't say it very often."

Breathing out a heavy puff of air in reluctant agreement, Tom studied her face and saw the anguish, plain to see now that her defensive anger had begun to fade. Grabbing his wife's chin, he forced her to look into his eyes as deeply as his gaze was boring into hers. "You're right. I'm not great about saying the words; I know that. But I thought you could tell how much you mean to me anyway, from what I do, not what I say."

"I do, I guess. I just . . . I don't feel very . . . I don't know how to put this, Tom!"

He pulled her into his arms again as the thought crossed his mind that in the past 24 hours he'd had to hug away more tears from B'Elanna Torres than in all the other years he'd known her put together. Now was not the time to verbalize that, however; even he could see that. Instead, he shushed her, saying, "It's okay. You want to hear it, and I want to say it. I don't know why I have such trouble doing it!"

"Then say it, Tom."

"B'Elanna, I love you. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, especially now."

"Oh, please! I'm as big as a space station."

"Beautiful, B'Elanna. Absolutely beautiful." He kissed her tenderly on the lips, then backed away from her to see her face more clearly. Her color was high, more from her emotional state than from pregnancy, although that contributed to her flushed skin tones. Her eyes shone with residual tears. She was never more his wild, passionate Klingon beauty than she was at that moment. It struck him that even though his words had sprung from the desire to placate her, what he'd said was the literal truth. B'Elanna Torres truly was the most gorgeous woman he'd ever known.

"Hey? Is there a problem in there?" The banging of the turbolift door reminded them both of where they were. 

"No, Ashmore. Nothing's wrong," Tom called out. Jumping next to B'Elanna, he ordered the lift door to open. He didn't know what Ashmore might have thought upon entering, but since the ride to their deck was only a few seconds long, no actual conversation was necessary. They exited the turbolift with barely a word. Slowly, they walked to their cabin, with Tom's arm protectively circling B'Elanna's shoulders.

After their own door closed behind them, Tom said carefully, "You know, I've never been much for saying it to anyone." 

"I know. Ro said so in her logs," she said, drawing a quick chuckle from Tom. Biting her lip, she went on, "Tom? When Janeway got you out of Auckland? Why did you agree to go looking for us? Was it just to get out of prison, or did you have . . . another motive?"

Tom's eyes shifted away from hers for a split second in a solemn contemplation of their ceiling, but then he sighed and admitted, "It was mainly just to get out of prison. But it wasn't only that." Pulling her by the hand into the seating area, he sat her down on the couch and took his place in a chair in front of her, leaning towards her with his hands clasped before him. "Hell, I never expected to find you anyway, but if I did . . ."

". . . you were going to try to get away from Janeway so you could run away with Ro?" she completed for him abruptly.

"No, I was going to try to find a way for all of you to escape again, if I could."

"You didn't want to find Ro?"

"I wanted to find out what had happened to her--sure I did. She was my friend."

"You loved her."

"I . . . in a way, yes."

"Come on, Tom. It's obvious you loved her."

"I loved her in a different way than I love you, B'Elanna. I don't know how to explain it to you. Somehow, when we finally got together, it was so . . . so right. Like I'd been looking for you all along, but just didn't know how to find you. Even when I did find you, you didn't exactly make it easy for me!"

"I guess I didn't. You don't pick the easy ones, do you, Tom?"

He chuckled painfully. "No, I don't seem to. Just the ones that are full of fire and spirit and are a helluva lot smarter than me." He got up and sat down beside her so that he could trace her forehead ridges gently with this thumbs as he spoke. "Just the really exotic ones with a warm, vulnerable side they hate to show to anybody."

B'Elanna didn't respond verbally. Her dark eyes gazing trustingly into Tom's. He smiled back at her and confided, "You know, that last morning Ro and I were to . . . well, the last time we saw each other, she told me that she'd better keep me away from her Klingon engineer, because she knew how much I loved 'fancy' foreheads. When I saw you in the tunnels on Ocampa, I knew right away she'd been talking about you. Maybe she had some kind of Bajoran vision of us together, or something."

"Maybe she knew what a pig you could be." The anger and bitterness in her voice had seeped away despite her sharp words, replaced by a hint of the playful quality that he loved so much.

"Oh, yeah. She knew that. Didn't she say so in her logs?"

"She certainly did." B'Elanna stroked Tom's face. "You should listen to them."

"B'Elanna . . . I know you're right. I should, especially if she left an actual message for me." He sighed. "It's just that everybody's emotions have been stripped absolutely raw the past few days. So much has happened: the Hirogen almost killed Tuvok and Seven; the array got destroyed, so we lost our chance to stay in touch with home; we got the word about the Maquis; and we heard more about the war with the Cardassians and this Dominion--all of that, plus I almost get a message from my father but lose it just when I've decided I might actually want to hear what he has to say. Maybe someday I'll listen to Ro's message, but I don't know if I can take it now."

"What she has to say is important, Tom."

"You aren't going to let this die, are you?"

"No. I'm not."

Tom grimaced as he tried to think of a way to delay her by saying he'd still think about it, but the intensity in her eyes and voice silenced him. There must be something in that message that B'Elanna needed him to hear, yet sitting calmly here in their quarters on Voyager and listening to an almost undoubtedly dead Ro Laren's voice was more than he could bear thinking about.

"I want to, but . . ."

"Don't worry, Tom," B'Elanna assured him. "There isn't anything embarrassing in them. No big, nasty secrets about you."

"That's a relief--I think."

That broke them both up and they laughed together, but the light moment didn't last. B'Elanna suddenly gripped his hands more tightly in hers. "There were some nasty secrets, though. Just not about you. It was really . . . pretty harrowing. I always thought I had it rough, growing up on Kessik, with my mother and me the only Klingons there. But after hearing what happened to Ro, what happened to me was a picnic. I knew she must have gone through hard times on Bajor as a child, but it never occurred to me that she'd been raped by the Cardassians."

Tom sighed deeply. "To call it rape isn't nearly enough, B'Elanna. Torturing a little kid is more accurate."

"It's horrible."

"I don't know how she survived it, but she did."

"You seemed to have helped her."

Tom shook his head, his gaze fastened far away now. "Not as much as being Bajoran did. When she had nothing else at all--no family, no future--her faith and traditions seemed to sustain her, even when she didn't realize it."

"Is that why you've been so adamant about me accepting my Klingon side?"

He turned back to B'Elanna. "Partly. I've seen how important your Klingon side is to who you are, too. You need it to survive, just as much as you need your human side."

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"You need to accept something, too. Your past. You'll never really put it behind you until you do."

He gazed at her steadily, his bland mask hiding the barrage of emotions her words had churned up in his heart. B'Elanna was not always the most perceptive woman alive, but she had her moments. Much as he wanted to deny it, she was probably right. As the seconds stretched into minutes, he finally said, "You want to listen with me?"

"I . . . I've already heard it, Tom. If you don't mind, I'd like to get ready for bed. But I will be here for you. Is that okay?"

"Okay, Chief. But just where is this personal message, anyway? I'm not in the mood to wade through all her logs. I know most of it already. I lived it."

"It's the last personal log entry. Stardate 48004, I think it was."

He helped her get herself up from the couch and watched as she waddled into the bathroom. As rapidly as she'd been able to move before, when she was running away from him, now B'Elanna moved slowly and laboriously. The baby seemed to have shifted lower in the few minutes that they'd been speaking together. It wouldn't be long, now, before he was a father. //There you go again, distracting yourself. Paris, you know damn well what the problem really is. Let's get it over with so B'Elanna can get this out of her system before the baby comes.//

He seated himself forward so that his hands were clasped in front of him while his arms rested on the top of his wide-spaced thighs. When he was as ready as he felt he could be, he announced, "Computer, acknowledge this is Thomas Paris. Confirmed?"

::::Confirmed.:::

"Open personal log of Ro Laren, with the authorization of the creator, formerly Lieutenant Ro Laren, U.S.S. Enterprise. Is my right to access this log confirmed?"

::::Access confirmed.::::

"There goes my last chance to get out of it," Tom muttered. Gripping his hands until the knuckles went white, he said more loudly, "Play the final personal log entry of Ro Laren, Stardate 48004, in its entirety."

::::Personal Log, Ro Laren, Stardate 48004.1.

"We're only a couple of hours from the hideout, but I'll do the best I can to fill in the gap. I've lost the last couple of days' logs along with The Eye of the Prophet. Along with Tom.

"I want to believe I'll see him again someday, but in my heart, I know I won't. Or if, by some miracle of the Prophets I do, it won't be the same. I don't know why I know that so surely, but I do. This is it. I love him dearly, but I will never get a chance to say it to him again . . . I'll never get a chance to hear him say it to me. He never did say it to me, even though I believe he does care, deeply. How could he not care for me? He just sacrificed his future so that I could escape with my life.

"Jonas had the nerve to say that Tom was a plant sent to betray us, and that he'd be waiting at the rendezvous point with a bunch of Starfleet ships at his back. Well, Tom wasn't waiting, and we all know that The Eye is such a fast ship, if he'd wanted to set a trap for us, they'd have had us. There was no one there, and we didn't dare wait for him for more than a few minutes past our set departure time.

"We did a long-range sensor sweep, and there's definitely a lot of 'Fleet activity around Delistor. Some scout ship supposedly fired on the U.S.S. Powell in the outer reaches of the Delistor system. The Cardassians even sent a ship to investigate. The commercial shippers are flashing the news to everyone within subspace transmission range. That's where all our information is coming from. The Starfleet channels are crackling like crazy, but all those messages are encrypted. I don't have access to Starfleet codes any more, but I don't need them. I know who was in that scout ship. Prophets preserve him, because if Tom did fire on a Starfleet vessel, he's in even deeper trouble than I thought he'd be when he asked me to let him pull this crazy stunt so we could get away.

"It all seemed to be going so well. We got to Delistor with the parts without any trouble. It was a wonderful trip with Tom there with me. I made contact with our people, and we were able to finish it all up in only 48 hours. Tom didn't ask any untoward questions. He knew he needed to complete this mission without any slip-ups for Chakotay to have any chance of trusting him in the future. He even served meals at the soup kitchen! He acted the part of the perfect Supplicant.

"And then, just as we were getting the ship ready to go, he made contact with Suder. He must have seen him that first night we came in, when we had dinner at the Point. 'Get the vedek. The 'Fleet is in.' Suder was furious. Said it was a trap. By the Prophets, it certainly was, but it wasn't set by Tom! 

"He asked me to give him my vedek robes, so he could enlist a decoy. I don't even want to think about who he could have gotten to do that, or what he said to convince her to do it. I assume it was a her, with my robes. When I think of the kinds of women who hang around that part of the Port . . .

"Anyway. He said good-bye to me. He didn't say he loved me--he's never said that--but I know he does care for me, deeply. I didn't want to let him go. By all that's holy, I wanted to stay with him, even if it meant I was going to be captured, but Tom was right. I do know things about the Maquis that Starfleet could get out of me, and Tom hardly knows anything. How's that for irony? Chakotay's distrust of Tom made him the perfect fall guy. And when I made contact with Chakotay just now to warn him that we had to get all our operations off Malagra, he just had to tell me again that Tom was a spy! Forget that he doesn't know anything worth knowing--that he helped us get away clean. No, he's going to lead Starfleet into Malagra to capture us. Our having a head start on getting away, thanks to Tom, doesn't mean anything, does it?!

"Chakotay didn't want to listen to me when I told him what Tom had said--he'd never be able to give any of the dead from Caldik Prime their lives back, so he wanted to do this for us. To give me, and Suder, and those he'd never even met--B'Elanna and Jonas--their lives, too. I could hear Seska in the background, laughing, when I was telling Chakotay that. I wish I could wring that woman's neck, not that it would do any good. Until Chakotay gets out of that woman's spell, he'll never trust Tom--or me.

"One thing I've realized, after this experience I can't stay in the Maquis. I couldn't stay in Starfleet because of what they were doing to the Maquis, and I can't stay in the Maquis because of what's happened to Tom. If they can't trust me, I can't trust them. As long as I'm around, if anything goes wrong, someone will say it's because of me. I can't live my life this way anymore. I've lived too long without being trusted. No more. No more.

"I guess I've really screwed up my life this time. I have no idea where to go--except, maybe, to go home.

"I haven't stepped foot onto Bajor since the Occupation ended. I wanted to go home someday, but the thought of going there, after being raped all those times by the Cardassians . . . there were just too many bad memories there for me. But when I was so troubled about what to do during the undercover mission and confided in Vedek Bareil who I really was, he told me he had a place to shelter me there until I could decide my true path. That's the best thing I can hope for, now. The future is so . . . so cloudy now. So dark. I need the help of the Prophets. I'm sure not doing so good on my own.

"Torres, at least, didn't accuse me of harboring a spy, although when Seska gets her back in her sphere of influence, that could change. In the amount of time I've got left, I can't possibly explain all that needs to be said about Tom and me to Chakotay and the others. Maybe the best thing I can do is simply open my logs to them, so they can know what we were really about. What I was really about. No, I wasn't a spy. I really defected! And when I did, I betrayed the trust of the one man who believed in me when no one else did. And Tom wasn't a spy, either! I will believe that to my dying day.

"I'm going to do it. I'm going to leave the Maquis, but I'll let Chakotay, B'Elanna, Suder, and Jonas have the right to listen to these personal logs of mine after I'm gone, so . . .

"In the Name of the Prophets, why should I stop there? Who knows what's going to happen to us all? Starfleet may get us anyway, or even the Cardassians. Maybe long after all this is over, after I'm long dead, it wouldn't be so bad for people to know about Ro Laren, the Starfleet traitor, the one who could only stick it out for a few months in the Maquis because everyone thought she would betray them someday. Ro Laren, historical footnote.

"Okay. B'Elanna Torres, Lon Suder, Michael Jonas and Chakotay--if any of you are listening to this, then something must have happened and you needed to find out the truth about me. So here it is. I swear by the Celestial Temple and all that is and ever will be that what is contained in these logs is the truth. I'm not saying it's the whole truth--that it's everything I know--if I'd known I'd been making these logs for anything other than my own use, I'd have made sure the entries were a lot more complete! But whatever you've heard me say here, I swear, is true to the best of my knowledge. If you know I'm dead, then feel free to let anyone in the galaxy listen in. I'll be beyond caring.

"And . . . and there are three others that should hear these, if you can get them to hear them, so they can know what's been on my mind.

"Vedek Bareil Antos, I want you to know who it was that you offered to help. I'm on my way to take you up on the offer. I hope I made it, and that you did help me. It meant a lot to me that you were even willing to help me. I think you must be one of the best man that ever lived on Bajor, and it's criminal you didn't become Kai instead of that hypocrite Winn. And if I didn't make it to you, then thanks for the offer anyway. I'm grateful. Here I am, warts and all.

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard . . . I . . . uh . . . I'm sorry. I just . . . I'm sorry. That's all I can say. I never meant to betray your trust in me, but I . . . I just couldn't betray these people. You believed in me when no one else did. For all my days, I will be grateful for that. You helped me believe in me again, and without that, I would have been truly lost, no matter what else I ever did in life. I'm not sure you're really all that happy about the Federation policies towards the Maquis, either, but I understand--really, I do--that above all else, you are bound by your word as a Starfleet officer. I'm sorry I let you down, but I had to. You see, the other thing you gave me back was my conscience, and with that in place, I just couldn't do what you sent me to do. I should have turned down that mission. It's my tragedy that I accepted it--even though, I guess, maybe the Maquis wouldn't see it that way. Captain, the only other thing I can say is that when I defected, I felt just like I did when my . . . when my father was killed in front of my eyes when I was little . . . except this time I was the one holding the knife. And this time, I understood right from the beginning what was being done for me, and that I let you down. I'm sorry, Captain. I truly am.

"And finally, Tom. Thomas Eugene Paris. You are a good man, better than you let others see. I'm so glad you let me sneak past that mask of yours to let me see into your heart.

"If you ever get to hear this, I want you to know that I love you. I will always love you. I will keep you in my heart always—but there's one thing I have to tell you. Something always whispered in my mind and in my heart that we weren't going to be forever. Maybe it was the crazy situation we were in. Being a rebel isn't exactly a prescription for long life, is it? Somehow, as deeply as I fell in love with you, I knew this day would come--that I'd have to say good-bye to you.

"And I am saying good-bye, Tom. If we meet again someday--and much as I'd love to believe that will happen, I don't really think it's going to--if we meet again, it won't be the same. Even when you were taking my robes away and saying good-bye to me at the Point, that you'd get away and meet up with us, I knew this was it. Chakotay warned me that you would break my heart, and I guess that's true--but you didn't break it the way he thought you would. You left me, but you did it to save all of us. I know it, even if he's too blinded by Seska's hatred of you to know it yet. Maybe someday he'll know how wrong he was. I hope so.

"I have something else to thank you for, too. You gave me the gift of yourself, and I will always remember that. I hope you realize how special you really are--when you let yourself be. You know, you can be such a jerk sometimes--such a pig! But underneath it all, you have the biggest, softest heart I've ever seen--and one of the bravest. You stuck your neck out with your father and all the Academy brass all those years ago for a bitter and lonely Bajoran cadet who was rude to you. It would have been so much easier to let her be, but you wouldn't do that. You were my friend and never once laid a hand on me when I couldn't have taken it. You always protected me once you knew what had happened to me on Bajor. You even encouraged me to find a woman if I couldn't bring myself to be happy with a man, thanks to what Cardassian men did to me. You were . . . considerate, always. You were never friends with me for what was in it for you, but because you cared about me. I know a lot of people wouldn't believe that of you, but I know it's true.

"And then, when we met again in the Maquis, you helped me discover all the joys a man and a woman can share when they join together in love. You brought me back to the way of the Prophets, you know that? I can Honor the Prophets now--I can perform the act which creates a new life, thanks to you. I thought I would never be able to hold a child of my own in my arms because I couldn't . . . I couldn't Honor the Prophets. Now I might be able to someday. If they smile on me, I may have a child. And you know what? If I ever have a son, his name is going to be Tom.

"So this is it. I hope you find someone to share your life with someday, because you aren't a man who should be wasting it flitting from female to female. It's not really the way your heart works. You need to give it to one person--who will be the luckiest woman in the galaxy, by the way--and let her give all her love back to you in return. I hope you can think of me with charity in your heart sometimes, as I always will think of you, but don't hold onto my memory. Find the one you are meant to be with and . . . love her. I free you from any hold I may have on your heart . . . just as I'm freeing you from mine with these words . . . I . . . Oh, Tom! May all the blessings of the Prophets fall to you and to those you love . . . because you deserve it!

"End log entry . . . "

The sounds of Ro's gasping breaths at the end of her message that marked her efforts to hold herself together died away. Tom's hands completely covered his face almost from Ro's first words. As silence filled the room, he slowly slid them away to reveal his reddened eyes. He looked up at B'Elanna, who was leaning her back against the wall by the viewport, facing out to the stars. She turned her face back towards him, and he saw that it was again gleaming with her tears. He wanted to say something--he had to say something--but he couldn't find his voice.

He let his eyes speak for him, and fortunately, she was able to answer his unspoken question by rushing over to him. Standing before him, she wrapped him up in her arms. He curved himself over the swollen belly where their child still lived and rested his head between B'Elanna's very full breasts, with his arms thrown around her. They stayed in that position for several minutes, until Tom finally lifted his head and whispered, with as much of a smile as he could muster, "I guess I can see why it was important for you to have me hear that now."

At another time, she might have swatted him for insolence, but not this time. The pain so palpable in his voice eliminated the possibility of any meanings other than the one on the surface. "Yes, Tom, I guess you can. I'm sorry I put you through it. It was selfish of me, but, I just . . . right now I needed you to hear it."

"Yeah. It's okay, B'Elanna." He was looking up into her eyes, but his right hand was caressing her belly where their daughter was undulating beneath B'Elanna's skin, almost ready to burst into independent life. "She's pretty active tonight, isn't she?"

"Must be all this crying. Whenever I breath deep, she gets that way." She moved his hand down to where the baby was kicking particularly energetically, anticipating the smile that it would bring to his face. She was not disappointed. "Tom . . . do you want to change the name we picked for her? I mean, after hearing what Ro said . . ."

"No, I like the name we picked. Maybe next time."

"Next time? You think there's even going to be a next time?" she snorted in disbelief.

He chuckled and pulled her down to sit in his lap, stretching his arms around her. It was a good thing he had long arms; they barely reached around her. "I can talk you into it. You just watch."

She laughed back at him and laid her head against his. "You probably can. Let's give it a while before you do, though, okay? 

"I'll try to hold myself back."

She was quiet for a few minutes, relaxing into his hold and gaining as much strength from him as she was giving to him. At last she said, as a statement, not a question, "You really loved her."

"She was my friend and my lover. I'm not going to lie to you, B'Elanna. It's just like what she said about Picard. She believed in me when no one else did, when everyone else hated me for what I'd done, before they'd even met me. It was hard. Everyone thought that I was a murderer--me, included. I knew damn well that I was a liar who blamed the dead for what I'd done myself. When I met up with Ro again, I was busy drinking myself into an early grave and having sex with women I didn't give a damn about because, for a few minutes, it let me forget who I was. A damned failure. And she wouldn't let me keep doing that. She told me . . . she showed me I was somebody who was still worth something. Worth loving."

"She was right."

"She was right about something else, too. You have to be able to believe in yourself before you can really believe in anything else again. She helped me remember that, too."

"I'm glad she did." They hugged each other tightly, and then B'Elanna asked, "Did you really fire on Starfleet?"

"You know, I have no idea. It was such a blur when it was happening. I know I didn't do it deliberately!"

"How can you not know?"

"Well, you see, when I found my decoy, I thought she looked a little familiar. And I found out later that she knew me, but she figured I was just one of her Johns or something. She was a prostitute, and I promised her this great time in Zero-G. Anything, to get her to put on those robes so that the Starfleet undercover guys would follow us and not Ro or the rest of you. After we got off-planet, I sabotaged all the systems--propulsion, navigation, all the logs, especially-- and I thought I got the weapons system, too. Maybe there was some residual energy in them, I don't know now. Anyway, when this woman finally recognized me, she blew up because I'd cheated her by drinking up her money when I had nothing for her to steal from me! It was the very same prostitute that attacked me the night Ro found me in the gutter on Delistor."

"Oh, please! You didn't know her?"

"I was pretty drunk when I first met her. And she'd been drinking, too, I'm pretty sure. Ro said she had an accomplice, so I guess it wasn't the first time she'd done that sort of thing. I don't remember much of that night at all, to tell you the truth. All I know is what I figured out later and what Ro told me. So, on The Eye, when she recognized me, this woman attacked me. I shut off the gravity and she literally flew into the control panel. She might have discharged a phaser blast then, I guess. Considering how angry she was with me, I don't think getting captured by the Powell was necessarily the worst thing that ever happened to me. The officers may have hated me, but I was really glad to get away from . . . Dorinda, or something. I can't remember her name now."

"So you were charged with treason--and firing on a Starfleet vessel."

"Yeah. But they were after Ro, not me. I was right about that; they weren't very happy when they got me instead of her. I couldn't tell them much, and the little I did know--about where the hideout was--I held back as long as I could, to give you the best chance of getting away and staying free."

"And we did." She kissed him tenderly in thanks.

"B'Elanna? There's one other thing I learned on the Powell. Ro and I were betrayed by a Federation spy, but there was a Cardassian spy, too. It's not hard to figure out who the Cardassian spy was . . . "

"Seska, of course."

"Right. But the Federation spy? That was before Tuvok came, I'm pretty sure. I don't remember seeing him . . ."

"You're right. He didn't come until much later. It was Sela."

"Sela? The innocent orphan?"

"It must have been. The leaks stopped when we left Malagra, and she was the only one besides Ro who didn't come with us. For a while, Seska said it proved that Ro was the leak, but Chakotay never believed it. The leaks had started before Ro got there--and Seska and Sela were both there before she came. Seska must have stopped passing information on to the Cardassians for a while to throw suspicion on Ro. We were really successful for a time after we left Malagra. And then Tuvok came, but the Caretaker got us before Tuvok had a chance to do too much damage."

"That all fits." Tom silently contemplated what she'd told him, but finally he asked what he had always been reluctant to ask anyone before. "So, do you know where Ro went?"

"She took a freighter to Bajor, that's all I know. I never knew exactly where she intended to go. From her last log entry, I'm guessing she went to that Vedek Bareil, but none of us ever heard from her again."

Tom nodded sadly.

"Tom, I hope the reason Sveta didn't say anything about Ro in her letter to Chakotay was that she never went back to the Maquis. I hope she stayed on Bajor and found peace."

"I hope so, too, B'Elanna. I remember her telling me about that vedek once. She said he was a very good man, very spiritual, but practical, too. There was some kind of scandal that she thought was trumped up, or he probably would have become leader of all the vedeks when Kai Opaka disappeared. If anyone could help Laren find her way, maybe he could."

At the mention of Ro's given name, more evidence of just how much she'd meant to her husband, B'Elanna sat up straighter on his lap. He moved his hand to the small of her back to support her and help her balance there. "Tom?" she asked.

"Um-humm?"

"When you told me to throw out anything from that drawer I wanted to get rid of, I put aside some things I thought you should see first, even though you said I could ditch them." With a push on her back from him, she took to her feet. He followed her to the shelf in the corner of their sitting area that had a small, hidden drawer underneath it. Pulling it open, she removed the earring and scarf, along with the Ferengi ear necklace. "These are the things I set aside. You don't really want me to throw these out, do you?"

Tom chuckled as he picked up the necklace with one finger. "I seem to remember my sisters wearing stuff like this when they used to play dress-up," he said. "Let's put it aside for the baby." He set it back into the drawer. Gently, he touched the earring and the scarf in B'Elanna's hand, but these he didn't take from her. "As for these . . . no. I guess I'd rather keep them. As long as you don't mind, B'Elanna. I'll get rid of them if having them around bothers you."

B'Elanna smiled ruefully. "Well, I admit I'm not very good at sharing, Tom; but in this case, I really don't mind. Ro was a good person."

"Yes, she was."

"I guess--make that, I know--you'll never forget her."

Tom pulled B'Elanna around to face him and put his arms around her expanded waist. She put hers around his neck, the earring and scarf still clasped in one hand. He whispered to her, with all the gravity that was in his voice when he sincerely meant what he was saying, "I love you very, very much, B'Elanna. Even though I don't say it nearly often enough, you are my love. But that doesn't mean I won't think of her sometimes. A lot of my memories of the Academy, especially the good ones, were times I shared with her. Maybe in one little teeny, tiny corner of my heart, I will always love Ro Laren, I don't know. I know I'll always wish her well, wherever she may be."

B'Elanna traced his eyebrows and nose with her forefinger, chasing away some of the sadness in his eyes with her touch. A little sparkle returned to her eyes. Placing her fingers within his line of sight and separating her thumb and forefinger about five centimeters apart, she teased, "This teeny a corner?"

"Maybe even teenier than that," he grinned, pushing her fingers a little closer together--but not so far as to let them touch. His grin faded to a shadow of its usual breadth as he added, "But she's still going to be there, B'Elanna. Now you know. As long as you've got the rest of my heart, is that okay with you?"

B'Elanna nodded. "As long as I've got the rest of you, yes, that's okay with me." She put her arm back around his neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. "And you know what else? I hope she's alive and safe back on Bajor, with a man of her own who gave her that little boy Tom she said she wanted to name after you."

"She deserved to find someone who made her just as happy as you make me."

"I'm not sure I'd go that far."

He laughed.

=/\=

The two lieutenants moved together as closely as their unborn daughter would allow and hugged each other tightly. They stayed in each other's arms for a very long time, the Bajoran earring and scarf still clenched in B'Elanna's left hand. Those objects had lost any power they may ever have had to damage the love she'd found with Tom. Instead, these souvenirs of a lost love would serve as a reminder of how powerful--and how transitory--both life and love could be. The two on Voyager had always known this intellectually, of course. Now, they knew it in their hearts, as well.

 

=/\=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "One Corner of My Heart": Ro Laren, portrayed by Michelle Forbes, was a recurring character on the Star Trek: The Next Generation. She first appeared in "Ensign Ro," with a teleplay by T. Michael Piller from a story by Rick Berman and Michael Piller. She last appeared in the penultimate episode "Preemptive Strike," teleplay by Rene Echevarria from a story by Naren Shankar. "One Corner of My Heart" summarizes and embellishes my previous fanfic "The Mercenary," in which the relationship I invented for Tom Paris and Ro Laren is related, and I explained why Tom and B'Elanna never seemed to have met while both were in the Maquis, yet Chakotay did know him. Chakotay's letter from Sveta was first mentioned in the episode "Hunters," written by Jeri Taylor.
> 
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


	4. Deliverance

**Deliverance**

One minute, her head buzzed like it was filled with a thousand angry bees flying through the nerves of her neck and traveling down into her shoulder. The next, she found herself standing in the midst of wrecked debris, in a bar that looked amazingly like Sandrines. She glanced at her fist and saw she was holding an antique pistol. Tom was standing next to her, holding some sort of rifle, as was Tuvok. The dazed expressions on her companions' faces told her they were all in the same state of confusion that fogged her own brain processes. Seven of Nine seemed to be the only one with intact faculties. The ex-Borg was mumbling something, or maybe she was shouting something. At the moment, mumbling or shouting, it was all the same to B'Elanna.

And then it really didn't matter at all, because a flood of people in strange uniforms came up behind them and aimed primitive, yet lethal-looking weapons at them. "Surrender!" one of them ordered. That, B'Elanna could hear, and all too well. Seven pointed her own pistol at them, then lowered it slowly. They were outnumbered. Even a former Borg could tell that this was not the time to resist.

Another voice ordered them to throw down their weapons and sit down on the floor, against the wall. B'Elanna tried to comply, but that was easier said than done. Her hugely distended stomach was in the way.

As she heard Tom say, "Please, let me help her," in supplication to the uniformed soldier figures, B'Elanna reasoned that they must be on the holodeck, with holocharacters portraying the military force. She recognized none of them as members of the crew.

All the soldiers deferred to the one who walked through the doorway, revealing the true nature of their peril. The officer's rough, reptilian complexion marked him as a member of an alien race she had had the misfortune to meet before. The leader nodded, permitting Tom to help B'Elanna slide down to a seat on the floor next to him.

"How are you? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?" he whispered to her as soon as they were settled.

"The baby is fine. She just gave me a swift kick under the ribcage. But Tom, what's going on? I feel like I'm 20 kilos heavier than I was the last time I . . . wait. I can't remember anything for . . . I have no idea for how long!"

"Well, it's not all that hard to figure out what's happened. The last thing I can remember, we were fighting off an attack on Voyager by the Hirogen. Our friend over there strongly suggests we lost. We're Prey."

B'Elanna nodded grimly. Several Hirogen dressed in military garb were intermingled with the uniformed holocharacters. 

One of the holographic soldiers, by his uniform an officer in possession of an amazingly square jaw and prominent chin, stared Tom into silence. Lesser soldiers herded Seven, Tuvok, and Chakotay, forcing them to sit on the floor to B'Elanna's left while Mr. Strong Jaw conferred with the uniformed Hirogen. Uneasily awaiting their fate, the crew remained silent for a few minutes, until Tuvok commented in a casual, conversational tone of voice, "I do not recognize this program."

"I do." Jerking his head very slowly and cautiously in the general direction of the Hirogen, Tom clarified, "He's wearing a Nazi uniform. We're on Earth during the Second World War."

"Nazi." Seven rolled the word around in her mouth as if she didn't quite care for the taste of it as it resonated off her tongue. 

"Totalitarian fanatics bent on world conquest," Tom explained. "The Borg of their day. No offense." 

"None taken," Seven replied calmly.

A gruff voice ordered them to stop talking. B'Elanna looked angrily in the direction of the one giving the order, but she kept her mouth shut. For herself, she wouldn't mind taking some risks, but her huge belly warned her to keep quiet as it tightened into one of the Braxton-Hicks contractions that had plagued her for weeks. During the prenatal classes the Doctor had insisted she attend, B'Elanna learned she could expect to feel them during the last months of pregnancy, as they prepared her body for childbirth. "It's a perfectly natural process, Lieutenant, preparing your uterus for the work it needs to do when the time of delivery is at hand. Just think of it as another form of physical training." She'd wanted to wipe the smug smile off his face at his attitude when he'd said it. The EMH had always been a little too interested in sexual matters, as far as she was concerned--especially hers and Tom's. Still, the information had proved invaluable. She hadn't run off to him every few days, thinking she was in labor when she was still weeks away from giving birth.

She'd been even angrier with the Doctor when he'd advised the captain to remove her from duty because they'd become a little troublesome, right around the time they'd first run into the Hirogen. Her contractions weren't quite so annoying now, but they did serve as a reminder: this was not a good time for her daughter to be born.

As the minutes passed and the distant sounds of rifle fire slowly faded away, B'Elanna became more and more irritated as Mr. Strong Jaw's angry gaze returned to her again and again. "What are you staring at?" she finally challenged, unable to ignore his annoying glances any longer.

The Nazi stalked over to her and snarled, "Get up."

Clumsily, B'Elanna complied, with the assistance of Tom, who allowed her to lean on his shoulder and gave her a quick push on the hip to help her scramble to her feet.

As she firmly jerked down the tunic top of her costume to hide the tight ball of her stomach as much as possible, the Nazi loomed over her. "You deceived me."

"Really," she drawled.

"I should have seen through your flirtations."

"If you say so," she agreed, in a disinterested tone of voice. Since she had no memory of having an affair with this Nazi hologram, it was difficult to keep up her end of the argument.

"The thought of you carrying my child disgusts me."

"You're not the only one," she snapped.

The stinging of her cheek from the Nazi holocharacter's slap stunned her, but before she could respond, Tom was standing at her side with his arm held protectively around her shoulders, saying resolutely, "Look, I don't know what went on between the two of you, but it's obviously over now."

"I see you are acquainted," the Nazi said, addressing Tom. "Do you find her as attractive as I once did?" Turning to B'Elanna, he sneered, "I'll miss our nights together."

Tom's face flushed in sudden anger, his sense of humor nowhere in evidence. She might have smiled at the irony of her husband calling the Nazi a "Pig" if the situation wasn't so desperate. Tugging at his arm, B'Elanna signaled Tom to stand down as the Nazi officer coolly pointed a blunt-nosed pistol up his nostrils.

//Kahless! I hope the safeties are on in here!// Yet B'Elanna knew, as soon as the thought came to her, that it was too much to hope for such clemency from this foe--not from all they'd learned of the Hirogen. She felt icy fingers of pain shoot down her back, washing away the anger that always bloomed within her at times such as these. Instead, she tried to pull Tom far enough back so the hologram would no longer feel threatened.

Salvation came from a completely unexpected quarter. The Hirogen dressed as a Nazi officer called out, "Leave off. The Kommandant said they are hostages, not Prey." 

The Nazi hologram's arm did not waver. From the cruel grin on his face, B'Elanna knew that he had every intention of killing Tom, no matter what his orders might be. The growled "Enough!" from the Hirogen in charge caused him to hesitate, however. When he followed it with, "Hauptmann, they are not to be harmed," the Nazi slowly lowered his pistol and marched to his superior.

"Funny, he doesn't seem like your type," Tom said, a little of his habitual, flippant attitude back in his voice. B'Elanna looked up at him, ready to glare, but what she saw there stayed the angry retort she had been about to throw into his face. His grin was feeble, and worry glazed his brow.

At that same moment B'Elanna realized her hands, tightly gripping Tom's arm, were shaking. Perhaps he felt it, too, for he murmured, "I'll help you down," bracing her as she descended back to the floor. She needed it. All her muscles were reacting angrily at being forced to squat down again, but B'Elanna bore it silently. She was not about to let either the Hirogen or this ersatz-Nazi know just how uncomfortable they were making her. Rubbing her tight stomach to comfort the child within, as well as herself, B'Elanna breathed a silent promise to avenge all the indignities the Hirogen were forcing upon them. How dare they put her through this now? With the birth of her child so close, this should have been such a happy time. 

B'Elanna leaned back against Tom's shoulder to rest, trying very hard not to think of the most likely trophy the Hirogen would take from her, if the fight for Voyager really had been lost.

=/\=

"Enter."

Flanked by Hirogen hunters, Kathryn Janeway was ushered into her own Ready Room, limping ignominiously. Her couch was where it had always been, in front of the viewport, but the rest of the room was quite different. The changes did not improve her mood, already soured in the face of the incontrovertible evidence of her failure to keep her crew safe. Every step through the corridors since her capture had driven it home.

They were captives. All of them had been forced to fight desperately for life for weeks now. Is this what the Hirogen did with their Prey? This wasn't the impression the Hirogen Hunter pursuing the lost member of Species 9472 had given them when he'd stalked the abandoned creature on Voyager and captured it, with Seven's unwelcome assistance. That hunter had implied there were rules to be followed--that Prey, to be a worthy trophy, should have a chance to fight back. That wasn't the case here. They were all being forced to act like rats in a maze, performing for their Hirogen masters. Kathryn didn't like it for herself. And she'd be damned if she'd simply stand by and allow it to happen to her crew. Now, if she could only figure out how to do something about it . . . .

The Hirogen in possession of her Ready Room was dressed in the uniform of a Klingon warrior. When he was not sitting in comfort at her desk, he was obviously partaking in the entertainments the holodeck provided to the captors. Kathryn thought for a split second about asking if he was enjoying his holodeck privileges before thinking better of it. She chose instead to address another matter that bothered her more.

She nodded her head in the direction of netting slung against her ready room wall, serving as a sort of hammock in which the bones of the vanquished rested, gruesome relics of beings now sleeping eternally. Shivering inwardly in spite of herself, she casually chided, "I see you've done some redecorating."

The Hirogen arched the scales above his brow. Kathryn wondered if it was his way of smiling. When he spoke, the universal translator gave him a deep, pleasantly masculine voice, in warm tones much at odds with the personality of the being she perceived before her, if his choice of decor was any indication. He ignored her comment and came to the point. "Your attempt to retake this vessel was . . . inventive. From the day I seized Voyager you put up a dauntless fight. But your fight is over now. You're going to help me shut down these simulations and repair the Holodecks."

"No," she replied firmly. " We'll destroy this ship before we surrender it."

"Don't threaten me, Captain. I've faced far more intimidating Prey than you. If this fight continues, I promise you I will hunt down and kill every member of your crew."

She almost laughed in his face. As if he intended to allow any of them to survive! She wanted to tell him that she knew their bodies were already destined to join the others hanging on her wall, gutted and reduced by the Hirogen to trophies. After a brief hesitation, however, she chose a less hostile approach. "Well, by then this ship will be damaged beyond repair--and there won't be much of a Trophy left then, will there?"

"Perhaps I should kill you and find someone who will cooperate."

"Good luck. You'll get the same response from all of them." She knew her crew. They would fight to the death; she was sure of it. Kathryn was not sure what to expect from this Hirogen in the face of her defiance, however. Would he stop toying with her and kill her now in her own Ready Room?

His reply was not what she expected. "You don't realize what's at stake," he said, an odd note in his voice, almost as if he were begging her to understand, as if he were the victim here. That, more than anything, enraged her.

"I know what's at stake: your sick little game!" she bit out.

"This is not a game!" he roared.

"Then what is it?"

"I'm trying to create a future for my people." The sincere, matter-of-fact way he admitted this startled Kathryn. "I don't expect you to understand," he said with resignation. "You are Prey."

"You underestimate us," she replied, taking a seat in the chair that faced her desk instead of her proper place behind it.

He looked at her strangely, as if no Prey had ever spoken to him that way before--as well might be the case. "Yes, perhaps I do underestimate you." Sagging into the captain's chair, he confided, "My people are hunting themselves into extinction. Your Holodeck technology might offer us an alternative, a new way of life. Instead of scattering ourselves across the quadrant in pursuit of Prey, we could simulate the Hunt and give ourselves a chance to rebuild our civilization."

"And confine your killing to Holograms." she finished for him.

"With the safety protocols off-line, the pursuit is just as challenging."

Kathryn considered his answer carefully. Clearly, this Hirogen, unlike the other members of his species she'd had the misfortune to meet, had the capacity for thinking on a grand scale. He was not primarily interested in mounting his most recent Trophy in the manner calculated to best impress the females of his species. Still, it didn't explain why he had to torture her crew to come to this conclusion. "Then why have you thrown my crew into one brutal simulation after another?"

"I've been studying your behavior as I do with all my Prey, but your Holodecks allowed me to go further--to explore your culture, your history. I must admit, I've learned a great deal. Your people have faced extinction many times, but you've always managed to avoid it. You seem to recognize the need for change."

"Yes. You've got one of those moments running right now on the Holodeck. We called it World War II."

"One of your most difficult eras," he agreed. "And yet you survived." The Hirogen gazed at her measuringly. He grudgingly admitted, "You are a resilient species. I admire your cunning."

She revised her estimate of the person in front of her. Perhaps the voice he'd been given by the Universal Translator was not so inappropriate after all. Raising herself to her feet, Kathryn began to circle the room. "Let's end this. I'll call a cease-fire and we can try to contain the damage. I want my ship back, but in return, I will give you what you need to recreate the Holodeck technology yourself." She turned on her most winning smile for him. "It would be . . . cunning for you to agree."

The tall alien took to his feet, towering over the human captain. She may have had to crane her neck to look into his face, but Kathryn Janeway would not concede any higher status to him. Hobbled by a wounded leg, seemingly frail, she was nonetheless just as formidable an opponent as he--and both of them knew it. She had managed, while speaking, to return to her own position of power, behind her own desk.

The significance of the switch in their relative positions did not escape her adversary. Despite the tough, textured skin on his face, she found he was capable of smiling. He could not suppress his grin, any more than she could hers.

=/\=

The Hirogen called Turanj raised a glass of wine retrieved from the wine cellar of Le Coeur de Lion and held it up to the light. Liberating fermented beverages from captured prey was one of the rewards of the Hunt he most appreciated--generally. This time, Turanj grimaced. "Synthetic and undrinkable. I'm tired of this simulation."

In truth, the wine was not the problem, as Turanj well knew. This particular Hunt had gone on for far too long, in a setting that was profoundly unsettling. No, that was not the right way to think of it; the surroundings did not really bother him. Those who inhabited this ship did. These Federation beings--even the strongest of the males--were no match for the Hirogen physically, yet their stubborn defiance was beyond anything he had encountered in the years since he had matured sufficiently to join the Hunt. That should have been challenge enough in itself, but there was more to this battleground than the simple hunting of the Prey.

In the past decade, Turanj had visited a multitude of planets and had helped capture the ships of a great many species. On this one, however, most of these beings, enemy or ally, were not even living creatures. Mere images of life, their artificial bodies did not possess a single internal part to take as a trophy. The unnatural Ho-Lo-Deck simulacrums kept Turanj off-balance--and Turanj hated feeling out of control.

"Mein Herr, a word with you?"

"These holograms are becoming annoying," he muttered, not bothering to remain silent when the artificial being addressed him. Had this one been true prey, Turanj would no doubt have ripped the digestive system out of his body a long time ago. The ego it possessed was aggravating in the extreme. "Hauptmann" never took a hint, no matter how blatant it was.

"What are we waiting for? Why don't we execute these prisoners?"

"Orders, from the Kommandant."

"If I may speak freely?" Hauptmann asked.

Turanj nodded his head slightly, giving the hologram leave to speak, or more accurately, to harangue him. This hologram seemed incapable of a simple conversation. Every sentence was a lecture or a call to arms.

"The Kommandant has been acting strangely the past few days. He's been questioning German superiority. Perhaps we shouldn't follow his orders so . . . blindly."

"You will do as he says . . . as long as I tell you to," Turanj ordered reluctantly, even though every instinct screamed at him to follow the advice of this projection and kill the prisoners without another second of delay.

Petulantly, the hologram whined, "I don't know how much longer I can stand being trapped in here."

"Perhaps you would enjoy some entertainment." Turanj stalked over to the tall, yellow-haired female, his favorite Prey, and ordered her to stand. "Sing!" he commanded.

"I will not," she retorted icily, glaring back at him.

Again, she'd refused him publicly! Rage crested over the Hirogen's facial scales at her rejection, a sudden, frigid wave of anger, as if he had been dumped out into the space surrounding this alien vessel without his protective armor. As she had in every previous simulation, this female was refusing his overtures to her. He longed to hold the wickedly curving blade, so much like an evisceration knife, that he had used to hack into her shoulder in one ancient historical recreation. He could still remember the impact of that stroke, right through the metal links of her chained armor, so satisfying because it had been real. He longed to see the flow of genuine blood rather than mere projections of the life-sustaining fluid which spurted from the bodies of the holograms as they "died."

Still, the sound of her voice floating melodically in the air in this simulation spoke to him in much the same way as the death of worthy Prey always did. It was an experience to be savored. He relished it as much as he had her defiance when he had taken her physically on the ramparts of the city called Troy. Succumbing to the sudden urge to know what mating with her would be like, he had taken her as if she were a female of his own species, even as she lay mortally wounded. With that memory came renewed hunger. He wanted to enjoy her again, if not through the flesh, than through her voice.

Turanj pulled the cruelly efficient projectile-hurling weapon appropriate to his current role from its holster and grunted from between clenched lips, "Sing . . . or you will die."

"Then I'll die," she replied flatly.

The pointed-eared one seated next to her intervened. "Seven, you are a valued member of this crew. The logical response would be to grant his request."

"Logic is irrelevant," she stated emphatically. Turning towards Turanj, she added contemptuously, "One day the Borg will assimilate your species, despite your arrogance. When that moment arrives . . . remember me."

That was enough. If not for the Kommandant's express order, Turanj would have already throttled her by the throat and choked the life out her body. He was on the verge of breaking the Kommandant's order when the mellow voice of his leader came over the Comm system, interrupting his train of thought.

::::Bridge to Holodeck One. I've come to an agreement with Captain Janeway. Call a cease-fire.::::

"What?" Turanj exchanged shocked glances with Hauptmann. It could not be true! Yet a moment later, the human captain's voice came over the speakers to inform her people.

"Captain?"

::::It's true, Tuvok. Our first order of business is to call off the troops. I want you to find Chakotay and have him convince his soldiers to pull out of the city.::::

"Aye, Captain." The one called Tuvok, with the dark skin and pointed ears, acknowledged his captain's order.

::::Turanj, order our Hunters to end the fighting.::::

"This is madness! We're winning this battle!" the hologram raged.

::::Our civilization depends upon this agreement.:::: 

Kommandant Caahrr's order was unambiguous. Reluctantly, Turanj said, "Acknowledged." Turning to the other Hirogen, he reluctantly ordered, "You heard him. Release the captives. I'll tell the others."

The Prey quietly filed out of the room as Turanj ordered all units to withdraw to positions they had held early on during the battle. The irritating officer hologram shadowed him, nagging at him to disobey his Alpha leader.

"I have always thought highly of you," said Hauptmann. "But the Kommandant is a fool. He doesn't understand. He's never embraced the Fuhrer--or his vision. One does not cooperate with decadent forms of life. One hunts them down and eliminates them ."

A stream of words spilled out of the artificial lips of Hauptmann. Turanj was only half-listening as the hologram prattled on about destiny, the purity of German blood, and the symbolism of the Nazi banner. All that was so essential to the well-being of this simulated soldier was of little consequence to the Hirogen, but one thing the hologram said echoed in Turanj's mind. //Hunt them down. Eliminate them. Eliminate all the weak ones. All of them.//

Caahrr had been his leader, the Alpha male of the Hirogen hunters, but he no longer deserved his position. It should fall to Turanj. Turanj understood reality. His mind was uncluttered by Caahrr's pessimistic visions of the future. The Hirogen were destined to hunt Prey throughout the galaxy, expanding their hunting grounds for as far as the galaxy existed. Why worry about the far distant future? That would take care of itself.

The Hauptmann figure's ranting suddenly penetrated Turanj's consciousness: "We must countermand the Kommandant's orders. Stay and fight! We must be faithful to who we are!"

Yes. That was it. We must be faithful to who we are. In this, Turanj realized, Hauptmann spoke the truth. All that matters, all that has ever mattered, is the Hunt.

"You two, come with me!" ordered Turanj his subordinates. The time to finish the Hunt had come. If Caahrr was too cowardly to end it, then Turanj would. It was Turanj's destiny.

=/\=

"All units, clear the valley. Return to your previous positions. We're calling a cease fire. Repeat, cease fire." Hanging up that ancient precursor to their Comm badges, the field telephone, Chakotay added to his crew mates, "Well, the word is out."

"Whether it will be acted upon is another question," Tuvok replied.

"I'm their commanding officer, remember? They'll follow my orders. Tom, Seven, check out all of our units around the town. Find out if any of the soldiers in our force are members of the crew. If any of them are, bring them back here to stand watch."

"You do not believe the truce will hold, Commander?"

"It pays to be cautious, don't you agree, Tuvok?"

"I do, indeed, Commander. I will begin taking an inventory of our weapons."

"I'll help you, Tuvok," B'Elanna said, pushing at a stitch in her side as she stood up, preparing to follow Tuvok's orders. "Gods," she mumbled under her breath as she rubbed, "how can anyone stand to be pregnant more than once?"

Tom, of course, heard her. Leaning towards her with half a crooked smile, he whispered in her ear, "Once it's over, I'll bet I can talk you into it again."

She started to snort derisively, but then thought better of it and shrugged, "When you have that twinkle in your eyes, maybe--but only if I want to."

"You better believe you'll want to, Toots," Tom grinned. Pulling himself up to his full height, he snapped off a crisp salute to Chakotay, Tuvok, and then to B'Elanna herself.

B'Elanna rolled her eyes but smiled at his use of the ancient nickname. He'd called her that a time or two before when he was in a daredevil mood and willing to risk injury--or had a hankering to initiate some sex play, Klingon-style. Since they weren't exactly in a position for that at the moment, she filed it away in her personal memory banks for another time, when she'd have the opportunity to make him pay for that remark.

Seven stared coolly at Tom from beneath her ocular implant and observed, "Such militaristic rituals are archaic, Lieutenant Paris."

"Hey, we're in the Army now, Seven. Let's go before the 'captain' hands us our heads."

"My head is secured to my neck at the base of the skull, Lieutenant Paris." B'Elanna heard Tom's quick bark of laughter at Seven's literal reaction to his joke as the two began their journey, picking their way over the shards of the nightclub's front window, which had shattered during the fighting earlier in the day.

"We'd better clean up this glass, Chakotay," B'Elanna said, stooping awkwardly to pick up a fairly large piece.

"Leave that to the rest of us. Tuvok, put the weapons and ammunition where B'Elanna can count them." Chakotay entered Le Coeur de Lion and exited with a chair. Placing it next to the window, the first officer ordered her to sit near the window ledge, where Tuvok had begun stacking boxes of ammunition. Grabbing a nearby trash bucket, Chakotay bent down and started picking up chunks of glass from the steps.

"Chakotay, really, I can get the weapons myself, and I can help clean up too," B'Elanna insisted. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Lieutenant Torres, are you aware of exactly how much time we have spent in the confines of the Holodeck as prisoners of the Hirogen?" Tuvok inquired.

"No. How long?"

"I do not know," Tuvok replied. "I do not believe the commander knows, either."

"Nope. No idea," Chakotay agreed cheerfully.

"Seven would know."

"We will ask her to consult her chronometric node when she returns with Lieutenant Paris. Until then, caution on your part would be advisable. Since you were considered to be close to full term at the time of the Hirogen attack, it is reasonable to surmise that you may have reached, or even exceeded, the date which the Doctor had calculated as your probable delivery date."

"I'm fine," B'Elanna repeated, "but if you two want to do all the bending and the squatting, I'm not going to argue with you."

She saw the look that Tuvok and Chakotay exchanged with one another as she backed down from the confrontation--self-satisfaction on the first officer's part and Vulcan smugness on Tuvok's, but she let it go. Her belly had just cramped up again in another of those annoying Braxton-Hicks contractions. B'Elanna held herself rigidly quiet for the minute or so it took for the tight wave gripping her abdomen to pass.

This one lasted long enough for B'Elanna to have the unwelcome thought that she might have trouble distinguishing them from real labor pains. They were certainly strong enough to catch her attention. Still, she'd had several since she'd become conscious of who she was. None of them were particularly difficult to bear, nor did they seem to be getting any worse. They were just very annoying. This was nothing compared to what labor must be like, she reassured herself. The Doctor had said she might not be able to walk or talk during actual labor. Considering the stress they had all been under, both mental and physical, it was no wonder she was having a little discomfort now. That's all this was, just a little more of the same old thing she'd been enduring for months.

Now, her engines--that was another matter entirely. She needed to get down to Engineering as soon as possible to check those out. No telling what the Hirogen had done to them. They needed her attention, as soon as she was free.

=/\=

"Keep it moving! Keep it moving! Get the lead out of your pants!" Paris yelled at the squad of holographic GI's who trotted down the street behind a jeep. Obligingly, the soldiers picked up their pace, bringing a smile to Tom's face and an expression of detached amusement to that of his companion.

"Mid-20th-century American slang," Seven observed.

"You got a problem with that, sister?" Paris agreed, grinning back at her as he practiced his New Yawk accent.

"You're enjoying this simulation," she accused. "I find that peculiar, given the circumstances."

"Loosen up, baby doll! The war's almost over." Tom snapped his gum enthusiastically. His spirits were buoyant, and why not? Despite all they'd been through (even though he couldn't remember it), B'Elanna was doing well, the baby was fine, and they were going to find a way to coexist with the Hirogen after all--or at least, as long as it might take to get out of their space. Getting out of there couldn't come too soon for Tom, but once B'Elanna and her staff got the ship's engines back in shape, everything was going to be fine. He just knew it. The war was almost over.

Almost. A bullet, whistling by their heads, announced the collapse of the cease fire. Pulling Seven down to lessen her exposure to enemy fire, Tom swore under his breath as they scurried back to the sandbagged section of street where B'Elanna, Tuvok, and Chakotay were already ducking for cover.

"So much for the cease-fire!" B'Elanna yelled at him as he ran in her direction. Diving behind the barrier, he grabbed the rifle she gave him and began to shoot back at the aggressors.

=/\=

"These sensors show you've placed holo-emitters on decks five through twelve? No wonder the system breached! You've turned Voyager into one big Holodeck!" Kathryn fumed as she and the Hirogen leader, who had identified himself as Caahrr on the journey down to Deck Eleven, huddled over a console in Engineering.

"Can you shut it down?" he said, urgently.

"Yes, but I'm going to have to initiate an overload. We'll worry about making repairs later. Right now we've got to put an end to these simulations." Sending a Comm signal to the bridge, Kathryn said, "Harry, I'm going to need your help overloading the holoemitter network. I'm transferring optical processor control to you now. Start charging the secondary power relays. We'll use them to trigger the overload."

::::I'm on it,:::: Harry acknowledged.

As she broke off communication with Harry, she turned back to the Caahrr. "This is going to take some time. There are over 800 emitters that we have to . . ."

"Move away from the controls!" Turanj, in full Nazi regalia and carrying a German rifle pointed at them, entered Engineering. Even here, Kathryn thought in shock, the newly installed holoemitters were working perfectly, allowing artificial instruments of death into Engineering--artificial, but just as deadly if used.

"Why haven't you ordered the cease-fire?" Caahrr demanded.

Calmly, Turanj gave his superior his answer. He fired at him at point-blank range, ordering, "Move away from the controls."

As he staggered back, weakened by his wound, the Hirogen leader desperately tried to explain. "Turanj, listen to me!" 

"No!" He shot his leader again. This time, Caahrr did not reply. Kathryn crouched down next to the Hirogen but saw she could do nothing. She didn't need to know his species physiology to recognize death.

"What are you waiting for?" Kathryn asked, waiting for the bullet he meant for her.

Grimly, Turanj replied, "I am a Hunter. You are my Prey." Gesturing to the doorway, he ordered, "Run."

Hobbling as fast as her wounded leg would allow, Kathryn fled into the corridor. After jamming another bullet into his antique weapon. Turanj followed.

The Hunt was on, and Kathryn Janeway was the quarry.

=/\=

The simulated night sky above the quaint French town of Sainte-Claire glittered with deadly blooms of explosive devices. Tom and B'Elanna fired their crude antique weapons, trying to stem the tide of holographic Nazi soldiers. B'Elanna stayed as low as she could as she fired, to protect the child within her. Her back ached every time she bent down. She didn't dare look at Tom; the last time she had, she'd seen the set of his mouth. Tuvok, Chakotay and Seven were all equally grim. They all knew.

Their holographic allies were losing ground. Enemy troops surrounded the city. They had no better position to fall back to, no place to regroup. Unless Seven's tinkering with their weapons produced a miracle, it was only a matter of time before the Hirogen would be victorious. B'Elanna itched to get her own hands on the devices, primitive though they were, but this time, it probably was better for Seven to do the work. She had knowledge from the Borg that might update the weapons to something modern enough to make a difference. B'Elanna was needed to fire at the encroaching soldiers, to buy them enough time to get out of this nightmare.

From behind her, she could hear Chakotay ask Seven about her progress.

"I'm modifying this explosive device to emit a photonic burst. It will be harmless to organic tissue, but it should disrupt all holographic activity within 20 meters." B'Elanna stole a glance back at the former Borg. The entire time she was mumbling her response, Seven kept her eyes fastened on the grenade in her hand, painstakingly picking away at it to adapt it to something that would be effective.

Suddenly, B'Elanna heard Hauptmann barking out orders to the squadron of Nazi soldiers rushing towards the Allied position. Seven stood, pulling the pin from modified weapon in her hand, and cocked her arm to heave it at the holographic attackers. Mere seconds before the holographic bullet that wounded her would have disappeared in a photonic explosion, Seven doubled over. The grenade tumbled out of her hand. B'Elanna heard Tom's shout of dismay and saw his lunge for it as it bounced behind them.

He was too late. As promised, the grenade dissolved all of the holographic projections within twenty meters. Unfortunately, the holographic allied soldiers surrounding them were the ones closest to the device, and they were the ones that disappeared. The weapons the Voyager crew members were firing to defend themselves against their attackers also vanished.

The Nazi holograms and their weapons were not within the effective radius of the grenade. Their weapons were all still intact, leveled at Chakotay, Tuvok, B'Elanna, Tom, and the fallen Seven. A dazed B'Elanna endured another cramping of her belly while scrambling to her feet as ordered by the enemy soldiers. At a signal from Hauptmann, one of the holographic Nazis grabbed B'Elanna by the arm and half-dragged her to him.

As if he were doing her a favor, the Nazi captain announced to B'Elanna, "I will spare your life, but only because you are carrying a German child." The rest of the captives were thrown against the wall, facing a hastily-formed firing squad. Tom shared a long look with B'Elanna as he struggled against his two captors. After all that had happened, the unlikely way they'd found each other and come together, it would end like this. Death by holographic bullets was just as permanent as the real thing when the holodeck safeties were offline. Wordlessly, they said good-bye with their eyes as Hauptmann shouted, "Your deaths will serve the glory of the Reich."

But as Hauptmann uttered the fateful words, "Prepare to fire," fate intervened. A horde of Klingons gleefully brandishing bat'telh blades stormed into the Sainte-Claire simulation. Improbably, they were led by the EMH and a Klingonized Neelix.

Distracted by this unexpected attack, the German soldiers and firing squad hesitated just long enough for Tom, Chakotay, Tuvok and Seven to fling themselves into the melee. As the others fought hand-to-hand alongside holographic Klingons, B'Elanna slapped herself free of Hauptmann's grasp, hopeful there still might be a way to save themselves.

=/\=

As she staggered painfully through the corridors of Voyager, Kathryn struggled to keep her mind on the task of staying ahead of the treacherous Turanj. The murder of the Hirogen leader haunted her. He had been the one Hirogen she'd met who displayed the degree of intelligence one would expect to find in a being descended from those who had harnessed the energy of a quantum singularity. She had borrowed their marvelous communications array to send the Doctor to the Alpha Quadrant--the array which had been destroyed after his return through the blundering of other Hirogen, who could not see beyond the fanaticism for the Hunt. Caahrr had been the only one who grasped the glory of their past, who had a vision of what his stagnating race could again become.

Kathryn was so distracted by her anger at Caahrr's senseless death, she almost stumbled over a legless hologram whose sparkling stumps extended outside the range of the holoemitters. Her preoccupation ended as soon as she realized the significance. Holoemitters had been installed by the Hirogen throughout this corridor. She could tell that by seeing other holographic projections further down the hallway. In this section, the emitters must have been damaged by the explosion on the holodeck.

Here, where the devices were malfunctioning, she could make a stand. After pulling the dead holographic soldier back into the undamaged section to restore his legs and disguise where the damaged area began, Kathryn found a place nearby to hide and wait for her pursuer.

She didn't have long to wait. Once he appeared, rifle in hand, she made a noise that drew him right to where she wanted him, in front of the holographic corpse. She could hear the faint sputter of failing electronics marking the boundary between the functional and nonfunctional holoemitters. He did not seem to hear it or recognize what it meant, if he did.

From where she cowered in her hiding place, Kathryn begged, "Please don't do this. I can be of use to you. I can help you repair the ship! Don't kill me."

Turanj stared at her, smiling slightly as he leveled the rifle upon her. The smile was wiped away by the sudden buzzing spray of sparks which erupted from the muzzle of his weapon as the front half of it disappeared. Kathryn, tightly grasping a solid, genuine piece of metal girder blown from the inner bulkhead, jumped up and struck Turanj as hard as she could. Dropping the rifle he thought useless, Turanj fled down the corridor.

Kathryn did not make the same mistake. Relinquishing her impromptu weapon and grabbing the rifle, whole again as soon as she moved it back to where the holoemitters functioned, she limped resolutely in pursuit. She was Prey no longer. She was the Hunter.

=/\=

With the Doctor and Neelix exhorting the holographic Klingons and living crew with rousing calls of "Qa'pla," the tide of battle turned. Tom fought his way to Hauptmann, aching to get his hands around the arrogant Nazi's neck and choke the artificial life out of him. He would have, too, if the uneven bricks of the street hadn't made Tom stumble. The hologram took advantage of the distraction to stun Tom with a left cross to the jaw. Tom fell down hard, the breath knocked out of him. Before Hauptmann had the chance to pull out his pistol and finish Tom off, however, a growling Klingon knocked the hologram to the ground.

As Tom scrambled to his feet, he saw a warrior straddling the Nazi officer. With one powerful down stroke of the bat'telh, Hauptmann's shocked expression was split literally in two. The Klingon extracted the blade from his victim, laughing triumphantly, as he turned to his next holographic Nazi victim.

Tom turned away from the grisly scene and looked for B'Elanna. She was crouched alone against the wall of a building, a Luger taken from a dead Nazi soldier in her hands. Their eyes caught each other's for the barest of seconds. Tom, reassured that she could defend herself, returned to the battle.

=/\=

During his three weeks on Voyager, Turanj had spent most of his time on the holodeck. He did not know the ship the way Kathryn did. Instead of an open corridor, he found himself standing on a ledge, a gaping hole in the bulkhead behind him, with Sainte-Claire spread out behind and below him. Blocking his only escape route was a vengeful human Hunter, her rifle pointed at Turanj.

"This Hunt is over. Tell your Hunters to stand down. I'll use this, if you force me to." 

Though he was weaponless, Turanj knew only one way to live. True to the ways his people had followed for centuries, Turanj hesitated only a moment before charging at the human woman in his path.

Kathryn Janeway fired her weapon. Without safety protocols, the antique projectile hurled from its barrel had the power to tear through the Nazi uniform, so flimsy in comparison to Hirogen armor. The bullet twisted into his flesh, tearing a gaping hole within Turanj's thorax and forcing him backwards from the concussive impact. Backwards, where there was no floor upon which Turanj could sprawl.

At that last moment, as he fell from the gaping hole high up in the holodeck wall, did Turanj finally glimpse what his murdered leader had tried so desperately to convey to him? Did he realize that, unabated, the Hunt would mean the death of all Hirogen; that, by adhering rigidly and exclusively to the rituals of the Hunt, the Hirogen had discarded common sense along with the rest of their culture?

If he did glimpse these truths, Turanj barely had time for regret over the mistake he'd made by killing his leader. The air streamed past Turanj's scaly head for a few meager seconds before his skull splintered on the hard pebbled street of Sainte-Claire, bringing an end to all thought.

Kathryn held onto the shredded wall of the corridor and peered down at the lifeless body far below her. She did not rejoice in Turanj's death. She was too tired and in too much pain from the wound in her leg to rejoice. Besides, there had been other, far more costly deaths, just as needless as Turanj's.

His body must still be there in Engineering, lying where he'd fallen, a martyr to the future. Kathryn felt keenly the pain of lost opportunity. She had, for a few brief moments, thought that instead of enemies, the Hirogen could become that rare thing: allies to her and to the crew of Voyager. Yet, if there had been one, perhaps there could be others. Maybe she could find another of the Hirogen race who could understand, who could bring Caahrr's vision to fruition. She would try, or they would probably all die, natives of the Alpha Quadrant and Hirogen alike.

But first, the damned program had to be switched off.

=/\=

Chaos reigned. Nazi soldiers grappled with GI Joes and Klingon warriors in as wild a melee as those which were still held in high esteem in the empire in song and story, even after centuries. And then, suddenly, it was over. The Nazi soldier Tom had been about to punch disappeared. Without a holographic jaw to absorb the force of his swing, Tom stumbled on the brick pavers before he could right himself. He looked around for someone to fight, but there was no one left. Nazis and Klingon warriors alike had been sucked back into the databanks where holocharacters slept until their programs were activated, although a battered Sainte-Claire still stood, littered with as much wreckage as the real town must have contained when World War II swept through it hundreds of years ago.

Tom immediately sought out B'Elanna, who stood in the middle of the town square, her legs set widely apart to balance her on the rubble-strewn street. "They must have shut down the holodeck character matrix, but not the setting controls," she murmured as he reached her side.

He did not answer her right away. Instead, he swept her into his arms and kissed her, deeply grateful they had both come through the battle safely.

Gesturing to the other members of the senior staff who were standing around, bewildered by their sudden isolation, Chakotay gathered them together, saying, "It's over. Let's go."

"Where's the Doctor?" asked Neelix, looking around suddenly.

"His program went off line with the rest of the holocharacters," Seven replied.

"Yes, we need to get him back inside his holoemitter," Chakotay said. "Since the captain never mentioned anything about it, I'm guessing that Nanny was using it so she could take care of Naomi in the hiding place off Sickbay . . . Sickbay! That was blown up! We need to get up there immediately to make sure Nanny and Naomi are all right!"

"You, too, B'Elanna. We need to get you to the Doctor to make sure the baby is all right," Tom urged.

"I have to get down to Engineering to check on my engines." 

"But the baby . . ."

"The baby is fine. She's been kicking up a storm, remember? Get me to Engineering first, then you can drag me to the Doctor for a check-up."

"But B'Elanna! We need to check you out! It could be dangerous . . ."

"And if the warp core blows, it will be more dangerous. It will be all over for her and for all of us! I need to see what they've done to my engines!" 

There wasn't much any of them could say to rebut her argument. A blown warp core was definitely at the top of the list of unhealthy situations on board a starship. With a quick shrug of his shoulders, Chakotay capitulated. "OK. Tom, go with her. And be careful. There may still be fighting between the crew and the Hirogen off the holodeck. Tuvok, Neelix, Seven: you're with me."

Holding his arm out for B'Elanna to grab, Tom helped his wife scramble over a pile of rubble that blocked their way out of the arch. As they exited the holodeck, Tom pulled B'Elanna close again and murmured into her ear, "You sure you're OK?"

"I'll be better when I know what's going on in Engineering," she answered tightly.

"Said like a true engineer, Chief. You want to stand here and catch your breath a moment before we start climbing down Jefferies tubes? You look pretty tired." He waited for the expected explosion. B'Elanna never admitted weakness.

She surprised him by nodding agreement and leaning into his hold. Her hand stroked her belly in a circular, occasionally jerky, motion.

"How's our little one?"

"She'll be better when we know what's going on in Engineering, too!"

"Okay, okay. Just asking a simple question."

Her voice softened. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"It's all right, B'Elanna. I know we've got to check on Engineering--but that won't stop me from worrying about you. So much exertion, so close to your time--it can't be good for you or the baby. You know that."

For the next few minutes she remained at his side, her body supported against his, breathing in and out deeply to catch her breath but otherwise silent. Every now and then faint sounds like distant yelling or the far away zing of phaser fire reached their ears. Whenever he heard them, Tom brushed his hands over her hair, trying to hold fast to believing that it was all going to be all right.

Finally, with one last breath that seemed to have a gasp buried in it, B'Elanna took his hand and led him down the corridor, towards the nearest Jefferies tube access port. It was five floors down to Engineering, and it promised to be a rough trip.

=/\=

They were appalled at the state of the ship. In the area nearest the holodecks, the explosion had loosened equipment panels, ladders and handrails from the walls of the Jefferies tubes. Further down, their path was obstructed by rough wiring jobs, diverting power to fit corridors with additional holoemitters to expand the area in which holocharacters could function. They had to pick their way with care to avoid getting their legs caught and falling to grave injury--or worse. All of the systems were affected by the jerry rigging, infuriating B'Elanna.

The closer they got to Engineering, the harder it was to keep going. Frequently, they had to pause while Tom cleared away debris. The pain in her back increased, although the cramping of her belly didn't seem much worse than it had been all day. A couple of times she thought about telling Tom about the pain she felt in her shoulder and back, but she was sure it was from falling and being pulled around by the Nazis on the holodeck. Their awkward crawl through the Jefferies tubes to get to the engines couldn't be helping her, either; but she knew if she did say something, Tom would assume it was because of the baby. She kept silent.

She took advantage of Tom's clearing their path to catch her breath whenever she could, sometimes surreptitiously rubbing her back to relieve the ache. Whenever they were not making much noise themselves, they could hear the unmistakable sounds of fighting between the Hirogen and the crew. There was no way to know how that was going without poking their heads out of the Jefferies tubes. They weren't about to do that. B'Elanna only hoped they were winning. A look at Tom's face during one of their rest stops let her know, without needing to ask, that he was just as worried about what they might find when they reached Engineering as she was.

When they reached their destination, Tom whispered, "Let me go first." B'Elanna let him go without an argument, to his visible surprise. She was too busy hiding her fight with her aching back and contracting stomach to put up a fuss.

Although she knew it could only have been a few minutes, it seemed as if hours passed while she waited for Tom to come back. At any moment she expected to hear a shout from a Hirogen throat or the bitter whine of a weapon, even though they had left the sounds of fighting behind them by the time they got to Deck Eleven. Thanks to Tom's stealth as he crawled carefully into the corridor, she heard little until he knocked on the access port behind which she was lurking and quietly called out, "All clear."

With his help, B'Elanna stepped out of the port. They hurried as fast as B'Elanna could move into the main chamber. The warp core pulsed its usual blue, although from its sound, she knew it was being forced to put out more power than it should be asked to give. Even the most cursory of visual inspections showed that either the Hirogen or her own staff, at the Hirogen's insistence, had made modifications to increase the core's output far beyond specs. Systems were already starting to fail. A tell-tale charred electronic smell announced, even before she completed her initial inspection, that much of the relay circuitry had begun to decay, probably due to power surges from the out-of-spec alterations to the system. If they didn't get things back to where they should be soon, they could lose control of core reactions. Propulsion could be damaged severely, possibly even beyond repair, considering Voyager's isolation from Starfleet here in the Delta Quadrant. Just as she'd feared, losing the ship to an explosion was not outside the range of possibility. B'Elanna had to get the core shut down right away--and without her staff to help her. The chief engineer's domain was deserted.

"We have to lock down the magnetic constrictors and get that core off-line," she told her husband in a whisper, unwilling to raise her voice to avoid attracting the attention of any lurking Hirogen. When Tom didn't answer, she realized he was no longer standing near her.

B'Elanna shivered as she began to circle the room, all senses alert. Rounding the core as she headed towards the main Engineering console, she saw Tom kneeling down next to a body. She steeled herself at first, thinking it must be one of her Engineering staff. Then she realized that the body was clad, not in the gold and black of Starfleet engineers, but in a Klingon warrior's uniform.

At her approach, Tom said, "He'd been a player on the holodeck, from the way he's dressed, as a warrior of the highest rank. Dead for a while, I think."

"You think this was the one who made the truce with the captain?"

"I'd expect the highest ranking Hirogen to keep a similar position in any simulation he participated in, wouldn't you? So yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if this is our Kommandant."

"If you're right, then I guess we could assume the cease fire ended when he was killed. Do you think the captain killed him?"

"No. I don't think she'd have done that, even if he went back on the cease fire. More likely, one of his friends didn't want to go along with the program."

"The captain, do you think she could have been . . ." B'Elanna was unable to finish her question.

"Somebody got those holodeck characters shut off, but if it was her or someone else, it's hard to say . . ." An uncomfortable silence fell between them as Tom's words trailed away.

Leaning heavily on the console, B'Elanna took a deep breath, distracted as a new wave of pain gripped her. Tom was examining the body at his feet and didn't seem to notice. That was fine with her; she had things to do and she didn't need Tom hovering over her because of a little discomfort--even though she was beginning to become concerned about how well she would be able to work if she was constantly forced to stop to get herself together. When the pain faded away enough so she could speak without alarming Tom, she said, "We have to get this core shut down, Tom. I'm sure it needs maintenance desperately, and I have to check it out for damage."

"How can I help?"

"First, see if you can contact the captain. If you can, let her know we could use some of my staff down here, immediately. Then you can help me with the core."

Tom went to the console, but there was no call to the captain. "B'Elanna, the Comm system is down. From the smell in here, I think some of the components of the main Comm lines are toast."

After a quick inspection, B'Elanna slammed the side of the console. "Hu'tegh Hirogen! If they've screwed up the Comm system, God knows what else they've messed up," she fumed. "Well, Tom, you said you wanted to help. My regular engineering staff is unavailable at the moment. You're enlisted."

"Yes, ma'am. Point the way, Chief."

The two of them undertook the work of an entire shift of engineers. Virtually every system was damaged. The transporters, warp drive, and impulse drive were all down. The communications network had burned out throughout the lower half of the ship. Neither of them had a working Comm badge, which they could have used to signal other people wearing the devices. The ship was moving, but on thrusters only. Even those systems that were still working, such as life support and structural integrity, were strained to the breaking point from having to compete with the greedy holoemitters for power. Whenever a choice had to be made, B'Elanna saw, the holodeck area, now extending through almost half the ship, had won. At one time, the ship's holodeck power systems were separate from the rest of the ship's, but thanks to the Hirogen's tampering, no more.

During the quarter hour it took to shut down the engines to check them for permanent damage, B'Elanna was hampered only a few times by pain. It was never so bad she couldn't work through it, as long as she concentrated hard on what she was doing and wasn't moving around much when they struck. She was pretty sure the pains were getting weaker now. Just another false alarm. That's all it was.

By the time she cut the power to the holodeck, announcing, "That should make the last remnants of Sainte-Claire flicker out of existence," B'Elanna felt pretty good about all they'd managed to accomplish, despite being on their own. All the systems, including the warp core and matter-antimatter chamber, were in safe mode. Auxiliary power was running life support and other critical systems. The threat of a cataclysmic event had been averted. Now they just had to get everything repaired and back to optimal condition. Simple, if she had her usual team of engineers. A little more complicated as long as the two of them comprised the entire department. 

Turning to start in on the communication system repairs, she grumbled, "Finding the parts to fix this won't be easy, with the replicators down. If only we could get access to Cargo Bay . . . ah!" B'Elanna grabbed at her stomach. A sudden stab of pain so overwhelming she couldn't speak choked away the rest of her sentence.

"B'Elanna!" Tom cried. "I told you that you were overdoing it! Sit down right here . . ."

B'Elanna shook her head. She didn't want to move. She didn't think she could move. When he came within arm's reach, she grabbed onto him desperately, grunting as she felt something strange happening. A gush of warm, slimy liquid splashed on the floor beneath her. Out of her.

"B'Elanna! Your water just broke! How long have you been in labor?"

She stared at the pool of amniotic fluid on the floor beneath her feet. The stray thought that it was fortunate she hadn't been standing on anything electronic crossed B'Elanna's mind. "B-B- Braxton-Hicks Contractions. That's all they are," she finally answered.

"I don't think so! How long have you been in pain?" Tom demanded, in a tone that brooked no equivocation.

"Most of the day . . ."

"You've been in pain all day and you didn't tell me?" His already pale complexion went white.

"I was a little distracted, okay? How was I supposed to know? I've never had a baby before!"

"B'Elanna! Of all the times to go stoic Klingon on me!"

"The pain was in my back most of the time, and it only came now and then. I thought it was from that fall I had and . . . and . . . oh, Tom, I'm getting another one." A little bit of panic came into her voice. "Not now! I can't afford to have this baby now, not here in Engineering! There's too much to do!"

"When it's time for a baby to come, it comes, B'Elanna. It doesn't matter how busy you are."

Tom eased her down on the deck, his large hands stroking her abdomen as it balled up even more tightly than before. //This must be what being in a vise feels like,// she thought.

"B'Elanna, remember your breathing. Come on, deep cleansing breath . . . do what I'm doing, breathe!" With his touch soothing her and his voice reminding her of the breathing patterns he'd forced her to practice for months, the pain did seem easier to bear than before, even though she could no longer delude herself that this was a false alarm. Tom's blue eyes beneath his crinkled brow were dark with concern, but as the pain began to wind down, he smiled in encouragement.

Finally, it was over, and with Tom's help she sat up. As a little more warm liquid leaked out of her, making her grimace in disgust, she informed Tom, "Just so you know, I am not going to Sickbay. You need me here to tell you what to do, even if I can't do it myself."

"Take you to Sickbay?" Tom laughed mirthlessly. "If only I could! The captain blew it up, remember? And I couldn't get you to Deck Five now without a site to site transport. We've got a ways to go before we get that system up, if you recall. I don't think I could carry you up six decks worth of Jefferies tubes before our daughter insisted on being born. Assuming we could get though the fighting. Damn it! I knew I should have set up that pool about where you were going to deliver. I always had a hunch you were going to find a way to have this baby in Engineering!"

"Well, I didn't personally invite the Hirogen onto Voyager just so I could have her here." She quirked a smile at him and got one back. "Tom, we don't have time to waste between my labor pains. Communications . . . we need to get them up."

"Agreed," he said with reluctance. He helped her up, and they worked together for the few minutes they had before her next pain started. It came within five minutes, and while she clung to him, practicing her breathing exercises, he did what he could.

=/\=

Twenty minutes later, B'Elanna was having contractions every couple of minutes and they still didn't have communications back up. Tom did the best he could to help her through her bouts of pain, but there was no doubt they were coming regularly now. Each was stronger than the last. After another contraction, Tom retrieved the first aid kit stored in Engineering, using the medical tricorder to see how far along she was. He shook his head at the readings.

"B'Elanna, you're fully effaced and dilated to eight centimeters already. I don't think we're going to get much further with the repairs."

"Tom, we have to keep going, even if it's just to get communications up so we can call for help."

Tom looked at his wife. Her face was sweaty and flushed, but her indomitable spirit still shone brightly from her eyes. Giving birth had turned into a war. He knew she could handle it. As much as she sometimes tried to deny it, she was Klingon. She lived to do battle, whether it was against hostile aliens or a finicky warp core.

He, on the other hand, wasn't sure how much help to her he could be. Yes, he'd done well with his gynecological studies, but B'Elanna was the one who was going to have to actually give birth. Thankfully, he had squirreled away some supplies in the storage alcove where the medical kit had been. Usually, the emergency remedies it contained were primarily those used to treat simple trauma, plasma burns, and radiation exposure, but he'd had the foresight, two months ago, to stock the kit with the bare minimum of medical supplies needed for an emergency childbirth.

//I must have known!// he thought to himself, stifling a moan. //But why did I only keep one blanket here? Stupid! What am I going to wrap the baby in? Why didn't I think of *that* before?//

Tom quickly cast his eyes around for something to serve as swaddling for a newborn. They had B'Elanna's clothing from the World War II simulation, but its silky texture wasn't what he was looking for. They wanted something soft, absorbent. His own clothing was military wear. It wouldn't serve their purpose . . . well, most of it wouldn't. Tom shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Both were too stiff to be good to use as baby clothing, but the T-shirt he wore underneath, though it might be damp from perspiration, would be a reasonably good choice. It was soft enough to put against a baby's skin. His army jacket could serve as a blanket. That should work.

Slipping his T-shirt over his head to the accompaniment of B'Elanna's demands that he get to work on the Comm system repairs before she got up and fixed it herself, Tom comforted himself with the thought that they were going to get through this somehow. //I know we'll get through it. I just wish to God it was already over!//

And as he placed the soft cotton undershirt on top of his jacket, Tom thought, //But damn it, I *knew* I should have run that betting pool!//

=/\=

Voyager's bridge was strewn with the detritus of battle. The bodies of two Hirogen were stretched across the raised platform behind the command chairs. Another slumped against the helm console, face turned towards the area in front of the command chairs. When Kathryn limped out of her ready room, she tried to ignore the sightless eyes that seemed to follow her as she moved to take a seat in her chair. Phaser burned panels and railings bore testimony to the fierce fighting that had ended only minutes before.

"Report."

"We have control of Decks One, Two, Three and Four, Captain, and partial control of Deck Five. There is still a great deal of fighting on Decks Six through Eight. As yet there has been no word from other decks." Although he was still wearing the clothing of a French Resistance partisan, Tuvok's delivery of the facts was crisply professional.

"Casualties?"

"One confirmed dead from the fighting today, and one during the holodeck simulation period over the past three weeks, according to the Doctor. We have two crew members in critical condition and several more with lesser injuries at the moment, Captain. The Doctor is treating them in the temporary Sickbay he and Mr. Neelix have set up in the mess hall. They have retrieved supplies from Sickbay."

"We control that area of Deck Five?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Naomi and Nanny came through all right?"

"Both are well. Once we freed Ensign Wildman, she went directly to the schoolroom hiding place for Naomi. Nanny volunteered to go off-line so that the Doctor's program could be transferred into the holoemitter to treat his patients."

"And the Hirogen?"

"They have sustained heavy casualties. While they are still fighting with tenacity, it is now as individuals seeking Prey. Their organization as fighting units appears to have crumbled with the death of the Alpha Hirogen and his lieutenant. A good number of their people died in the initial explosion of the Holodeck as well. Two of the four Hirogen ships that Mr. Kim indicated were traveling with Voyager have pulled out of formation. They apparently no longer feel the need to take trophies from us. The remaining two vessels appear to be those belonging to the dead Hirogen leaders. They may be continuing to fight because there is no longer anyone to direct them otherwise."

"Try to get word to them. Offer a cease fire. Let's end this."

"Yes, Captain."

"Any word from Tom and B'Elanna in Engineering?"

"Nothing yet, Captain, Harry Kim replied. "Ever since we instituted the overload to get rid of the holodeck characters, communications have been down below Deck Five."

"Harry, go down to Engineering to see what's going on. Help B'Elanna and Tom stabilize the base power system, reestablish communications, fix the turbo lifts, and bring the warp core back up to specs--those are our priorities." //Not asking for much, am I?// Kathryn thought ruefully.

"Captain, I can accompany Ensign Kim."

"But you're wounded, Seven. You should go to the mess hall to be treated."

"It is a minor injury. My nanoprobes have already healed most of the damage. You need me to provide assistance to Ensign Kim. Your priority list is extensive."

Kathryn sighed, recognizing the steely resolve in Seven's eyes, both human and Borg-enhanced, that stated more clearly than words that she would be going to Engineering with or without the captain's permission. "All right. Go with Harry, but stop off at the mess hall first so the Doctor can make sure you don't need any additional treatments. Harry, make sure she does it!"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied unable to completely stifle his smile.

"And be careful, both of you."

=/\=

" . . . And another deep cleansing breath. That's good, B'Elanna. You're doing just great."

"Let me up! We have to fix . . . "

"No, you don't! You aren't fixing anything until you have this baby. Then you can . . ."

Tom's admonishment was interrupted by the sound of a Jefferies tube access port opening. Dropping B'Elanna's hand, Tom reached for the weapon he'd retrieved from the dead Hirogen's corpse and aimed it at the entrance to Engineering. At the sight of the two who entered, however, Tom was the one who took a deep--and grateful--cleansing breath.

"Harry, Seven! Thank God you're here."

"The captain thought you could use a little help down here," Harry said.

"You got that right, buddy."

"Harry! We need to finish getting communications up. Seven, get into the plasma conduits behind the auxiliary manifold and see if there's any damage there. I was going to do that until I . . . Tom! Another one!" B'Elanna's stream of directives was cut short as her gasp announced her next contraction.

Although Harry had gotten his orders, he couldn't help gazing in fascination at the tableau before him. He didn't need to be told that B'Elanna was in labor. She huffed and puffed and cursed her way through obvious pain, lying on a blanket on the floor of her "office," her clothing in disarray. Tom leaned over her, encouraging her to "just breathe through it."

Her eyes burned as she angrily demanded, "I need to push, Tom! Now! This time, I really mean it!"

"Ensign Kim, would these items be of any assistance to Lieutenant Torres during her delivery?" Seven interrupted, brow upraised.

"Oh, right. Tom, can you use these? We brought a couple of pillows and blankets down because we weren't sure how long we were going to be here. Because of the fighting? You know all about that?" Harry dropped the pillows he was carrying next to the two blankets Seven had just deposited behind B'Elanna.

The subject of hand-to-hand combat apparently was not uppermost on Tom's mind. He totally ignored Harry's question. "Great, B'Elanna. Just great," Tom said, massaging his wife's back until her cursing died away at the end of her contraction. Only then could he turn back to Harry. "Thanks for the blankets. We're definitely going to need them. Not long now, I don't think." He turned his attention to the medical tricorder and added, "B'Elanna, next time, it's okay to push. You're fully dilated now."

"That's what I've been telling you! You wouldn't listen to me, petaQ! And it's your fault I'm in this fix, damn it! You did this to me!" The sounds issuing from B'Elanna's vocal chords were half screech and half growl, with each word spit out at a greater volume than the last, in a crescendo of invective.

To Harry's surprise, Tom didn't seem bothered at all by the names B'Elanna was calling him. "Can't deny it, Chief, but now that we've got some help here, you can leave the drudge work to Harry and Seven. You just concentrate on having this baby."

"Ensign Kim, we have our assigned tasks. Do you wish assistance reestablishing intra-ship communications?"

Seven's appearance at Harry's elbow startled him. He'd forgotten she was even there.

"Ah, no. Let me see if I can get them back up, and then I'll help you with the conduits."

The Comm system repairs would have only taken a few minutes more to complete if Harry had had the right parts. As Tom and B'Elanna had found before him, without the parts, it was a lost cause. Replicators needed to be brought online, since he doubted he could get to Seven's cargo bay where spare parts were stored. The fighting was still fierce in that area.

Harry stole a glance towards Tom and B'Elanna as he moved to help Seven. He wanted to ask B'Elanna about getting power back to the replicators, but it was clear there was no point asking them about what he should do now. The repairs to Engineering had ceased to be her priority.

At least B'Elanna was less belligerent now that Tom had given her leave to push. She was hanging from one of the structural supports, in a squatting position she must have assumed with Tom's help. It looked to be a precarious position for a pregnant woman to take, but from B'Elanna's determined grunting and Tom's cadenced encouragement as he wiped her brow, it seemed to be helping her to focus her concentration on childbirth.

The intermittent commotion from the chief engineer's office didn't make it easier to fix the plasma conduits, though. Once, B'Elanna accused Tom of "knocking her up," which Harry assumed was some sort of slang term for pregnancy. Most of B'Elanna's curses, however, were aimed at the Hirogen for trashing her engines, at Janeway for stranding them in the Delta Quadrant, and at Seven for staring at B'Elanna when she should have been doing her ghay'cha' repairs. Whenever Harry looked in Seven's direction, she wasn't looking anywhere but her tasks that he could see. Admittedly, Harry only looked at Seven whenever B'Elanna's imprecations drew his attention her way.

Finally, after one of B'Elanna's accusations, Seven remarked to Harry, "Assimilation is a far more efficient process than single cell fertilization."

"Maybe, but I prefer single cell fertilization myself," Harry replied.

"You have experience with the process?"

"I, uh . . ."

"Tom! I can feel something! Something's happening to me!" B'Elanna called out.

A relieved Harry didn't have to answer Seven's question, thanks to the cry that diverted Seven's curiosity towards B'Elanna. He peeked at Tom and almost laughed to see his friend practically standing on his head to look underneath his wife. She was still dangling from the support strut, hanging on for dear life as she struggled through her labor.

"I can see her head! B'Elanna, her head is crowning! Let me help you lie down so I can deliver her more easily."

As soon as Tom had lowered his wife to the floor, he undid her skirt. Realizing he was about to intrude on a very private moment, Harry looked away. Seconds later, he heard Tom say excitedly, "There she is! Bear down, B'Elanna! Keep it going! There, her head's free. Okay, hold on now, B'Elanna. Wait for the next contraction.''

There was a pause as Tom murmured soft endearments Harry couldn't hear and had no business listening to, even if he could. After a long "Ah," from B'Elanna, Harry heard Tom's encouraging voice again.

"Push, B'Elanna. Give it all you've got. Her shoulders are coming. That's it! Here she comes! B'Elanna, look! She's here. Our Linnis is here. B'Elanna, she's gorgeous. She looks just like you!"

As the wail of the newborn reverberated through Engineering, Harry felt as if he'd been punched solidly in the stomach. It was not the cry that staggered him. It was the name Tom had uttered, a name that had the power to recall the most tragic memories of Harry's life, washing every other thought out of his consciousness.

Only a few months ago, Harry Kim expected to be the one who would help his wife give birth. Kes wouldn't have been lying down. She would have been hanging onto a bar, much as B'Elanna had been a few minutes before. Harry would have stood in back of Kes and caught their baby--or babies, since Kes had said she would have borne him twins--as they slipped out of the sac perched on Kes' upper back. In the traditional way of Ocampan birth, he would have been the one to present his progeny to his wife's view. Smeared with birth fluids, they would be crying at the new, dry environment they would be experiencing for the first time. Not so different from the birth of human twins, really, except for the place where they emerged from their mother's body when they were born.

Andrew and Linnis, they would have called them. A daughter and a son, whose chance to live had been destroyed when Kes' expected lifespan of nine years was cut to little more than three, thanks to a strange phenomenon related to a race which knew how to manipulate time, the Krenim. Somehow, their temporal weapons had caused Kes to live an entire life, and then move backwards again through her life, from death to before her birth. The captain and B'Elanna had saved Kes by treating the radiation poisoning which had unstuck her in time, but the damage to Kes' future could not be totally undone.

When the Voyager crew first met the Krenim commander who warned them away from the area of space the race claimed, Captain Janeway immediately ordered a change of course to keep the ship far away from Krenim borders. Kes had warned Janeway of the danger the Krenim represented to Voyager; that they should avoid them, at all costs. By doing so, Kes had told him, the captain had saved the life of B'Elanna Torres and Kathryn Janeway herself.

By that time, however, it was already too late to save Kes. Instead of B'Elanna and the captain dying in an attack by the Krenim, Kes was the one lost, transformed into a non-corporeal being in the manner of her people, the Ocampa, long before her time. Her spiritual essence, her katra, as Vulcans called it, had lived more than its allotted time because of Kes' backward journey through her life.

While Kes may not have actually died, her loss though transformation to a non-corporeal being living on another plane of existence had been as devastatingly final as death, as far as Harry was concerned. Her spirit might live on, but Harry would never see her, hold her, or speak with her again. Only a few short weeks after they'd found each other, Harry had lost Kes and the children they would have had together.

For a long time, Harry had managed not to think of how the babies Kes would have borne him might have looked. Confronted by the birth of Tom and B'Elanna's child, he found he could not stop thinking about it. Tom and B'Elanna could see their child, hold her, watch her grow. Harry Kim, the widower of Kes of Ocampa, would never know what his children would have been like. Would they have resembled Harry more, or Kes? Perhaps the girl would look like her mother and the boy favor his father--or vice versa. Would they have inherited his eyes? Her coloring? Rounded human ears, or pointed Ocampan ones?

He'd always known he would have to raise their children alone, since Kes' lifespan had been so short, but he had not even been granted the comfort of raising his children after the loss of Kes. They never had had the chance to be born.

It was a cruel happenstance that he should be here now while his best friends brought their baby into life. He knew he would have to see her sometime, but he always thought he'd have a chance to prepare himself first. He didn't think he'd be present at the time of her birth.

Harry Kim held the tricorder he was using in midair in front of him, but he was unable to see the numbers appearing on the screen. The only thing he could process was that name he couldn't believe he'd heard Tom use. His reverie was interrupted by Seven, inquiring whether he needed assistance. She did not seem to believe him when he assured her, "No, it's okay, Seven. I'm all right." He glanced towards Tom, who had lain his child over his wife's body so that he could care for both of them. "Are they okay, too?"

"All appear to be in satisfactory condition, except for you. Are you unwell?"

"No. I just . . . I just thought I heard Tom call out something I . . . What name did he call the baby, again?"

Before Seven could answer his question, B'Elanna answered it for her, murmuring "Oh, Linnis. I'm so glad you're here, too."

"Her parents have apparently bestowed the designation of Linnis upon the child," Seven replied. "I have not been informed of any secondary terms of identification."

Harry felt himself unable to draw a breath for a second as an overpowering heartache came over him. He closed his eyes, trying to regain his equilibrium. Part of him wanted to disappear, to flee Engineering, to avoid seeing the happiness of his friends that had been denied to him. Another part longed to look at the newborn child and satisfy a strange curiosity. It wasn't as if history would really be changed. This little girl would never be his own child with Kes; nor was it likely that she would become his wife, as had happened in another alternate future according to Kes. That time stream was destroyed when the Krenim did not kill B'Elanna and the captain. In that other future, Harry Kim would have become the husband of Linnis Paris, the daughter of Kes and Tom Paris; Andrew Kim would have been the child of Linnis and Harry Kim.

The might-have-beens with all of those Linnises and Andrews was making it difficult for Harry to think, yet what mattered was that this Linnis was no more the child of Tom and Kes than she was of Harry and Kes. B'Elanna had borne her. This child's expected lifespan was long, like that of a human or a Klingon. Harry would have to wait a very long time for this human/Klingon Linnis Paris to grow up if marriage to her was to be his destiny. Harry didn't think he'd be able to wait that long to find happiness again. Kes wouldn't have wanted that for him.

Yet, somehow, it didn't matter. Harry sensed the stream of time, split into fragments by the Krenim, healing itself, as Kes once had conjectured. He could not know what sort of life this Linnis was fated to have, but as the close friend of Tom and B'Elanna, he knew he would have some part in that life. Perhaps, just as Neelix had become "Uncle Neelix" to Naomi, as he would have been to the children of Harry and Kes, so he could become "Uncle Harry" to this Linnis. And that wasn't so terrible a thing to be.

Harry smiled to himself. Opening his eyes, he poked his head out from behind the panel upon which he was working to see what Tom and B'Elanna's newborn Linnis looked like.

=/\=

Tom knelt next to his wife, carefully clamping the baby's umbilical cord in two places as he prepared to cut her free from her mother. B'Elanna, naked below the waist and totally unconcerned by that fact, was cooing--cooing!--to the baby lying on her bare belly. Tom really tried to stay all business as he cut the cord, but he couldn't wipe the grin off his face. Once the baby was free, Tom wiped Linnis off the best he could with B'Elanna's World War II costume skirt while listening to his half-Klingon wife talking to his new daughter as the words, //I'm a father! We really did it!// revolved over and over in his head.

After he'd cleaned Linnis up somewhat, Tom asked his wife, "Let me hold her a minute, will you?" At B'Elanna's smiling agreement, Tom carefully gathered the baby up in his arms, supporting the back of the her head with one hand, and rested her body against his bare chest. It felt so good to hold her close that way. Thanks to B'Elanna's vigorous labor, he'd never bothered to throw on his Army shirt after he'd removed the undershirt. In truth, he'd never missed his shirts while he was delivering the baby. It all seemed to have happened so fast, even though such a great effort had been expended. His perception of time had been compressed during the actual birth. Tom didn't think he'd ever remember every step exactly as it had occurred along the way. He'd been too involved with helping B'Elanna through the process for that, but now he was holding the glorious result.

As Tom held Linnis in his arms, her tender skin against his, he decided he was glad he'd never had the chance to put his shirt back on. Her cheek was laying on fuzzy-smooth flesh instead of stiff fabric. It seemed right, as if that was the way it had been for the entire chain of ancestors going back to the dawn of prehistory on two planets. Good enough for all of those who had gone before Linnis in the past, it was good enough for her now.

He couldn't hold her that way for long, though. He needed to finish cleaning her. She had to be dressed and kept warm and cozy now that she was out of the hospitable environs of her mother's womb. Reluctantly, Tom lowered her down to rest against B'Elanna's abdomen. When he had cleaned her off as well as he could with the limited supplies available to him in Engineering, Tom carefully wrapped his GI-issue undershirt around the infant. It wasn't good enough for her--not for his daughter!--but it would have to do until they could get to the baby clothes stored in their quarters. Once the makeshift baby gown was secured around her small but sturdy form, Tom had a second to slip on his Army shirt before picking up his daughter again and looking fully into her face for the first time.

Tom Paris lost track of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing as he fell instantly, totally, and purely in love with the perfect being in his arms. His daughter. His and B'Elanna's passionate and loving act had transformed energy into matter and embodied it in independent, feisty, squirming flesh. He held the most beautiful child that had ever been born. Her little face was lovely, despite being streaked with vernix and blood. Her brow, faintly marked with Klingon ridges, was so like her mother's that he wanted to kiss each point in thanks. Her tiny fingers, clenching tightly together into fists, waved in the air at him, beckoning him. His vision blurred as he succumbed to impulse and carefully placed three kisses on his baby's brow.

His daughter. Now he was Thomas Eugene Paris, husband and father. He couldn't believe how good that sounded. He would never have believed he could feel this way only a few short years ago, when all happiness had been leached from his life because of his own mistakes. Now, every strange and terrible thing that ever happened to him seemed to have happened for a purpose--so that he could be here in the Delta Quadrant, married to the most fascinating woman imaginable, and the father of this precious little girl.

His musings came to an end when he remembered that in the here, now, and still-must-be-done, B'Elanna needed his attention, too.

Cradling the baby's head against him, Tom spread out his Army jacket so that he could wrap the baby in it, sort of a blanket or a . . . bunting . . . that was what Samantha had called her gift for the baby. The bunting was sitting in a drawer in their quarters. Too bad he hadn't thought to put that in the medical kit alcove, along with the other things. He'd have to remember that, for next time.

As he put her down, the baby caught the open front flap of his shirt and grasped it tightly. He chuckled, "Don't want to let go of your Daddy, huh, Linnis? Well, I don't want to let go of you, either."

He glanced at his wife. The loving expression on her face warmed his heart even more than holding Linnis did. B'Elanna gingerly rolled onto her side, propping herself up by the elbow, and carefully removed Linnis' fingers from the edge of the shirt. "We're going to have to get something straight, Linnis. I'm the one who gets to take off Daddy's shirt, understand?"

Tom laughed and bent over to kiss B'Elanna on the brow, in just the same way he had Linnis moments before. Then, carefully, Tom picked up the Army jacket with his daughter enclosed within its folds and eased the bundle into his wife's arms. As the new mother leaned back against the pillows Tom had placed behind her and hugged Linnis, Tom checked on B'Elanna's condition. The afterbirth was still to be delivered, but there was no sign it was imminent.

He started to tell B'Elanna to just relax if she had another contraction, but the sentence stuck in his throat at the sight of her. Forehead shining with sweat, hair flying every which way, B'Elanna looked even more Klingon than usual. She held her child protectively, her face glowing with such joy that his eyes misted over, just for a second. He hid his sudden wave of emotion by looking down at his shirt and concentrating on slipping each button into its matching hole.

A gasping sound brought his attention back to his family. A quick glance at B'Elanna's abdomen told him he was right about the cause of her gasp even before B'Elanna moaned, "Oh. I'm getting another contraction, Tom."

"Supposed to. The placenta needs to be delivered. You can hold onto Linnis, that's it. Just curl up again. Okay, one push should do it." As his methodical, calm voice directed her in the final stage, a bloody mass of biological matter was expelled from B'Elanna's birth canal. "There it is; we've got it." Easing her down on her back, the baby still in her arms, Tom pulled the blanket folded underneath B'Elanna so that the cleanest spot was beneath her and rolled the afterbirth inside the messiest part of the blanket. Quickly grabbing one of the two clean blankets that Harry and Seven had brought, Tom covered B'Elanna's nakedness, although modesty still didn't seem much of a priority to B'Elanna. Tom began to methodically knead B'Elanna's stomach to staunch the bleeding.

Suddenly remembering that getting a new mother to nurse her baby helped the mother's uterus contract, Tom assisted B'Elanna in putting Linnis to the breast. The baby seemed to take to it well enough, although Tom thought a little practice would be in order before she became an expert. He was gratified, however, when B'Elanna sighed, "Linnis, you've got a pretty hard suck for somebody who was just born."

"She must take after her mother. All business."

B'Elanna flashed an ironic smile in his direction. "Maybe she takes after her Daddy. He likes to suck on breasts, too."

Tom laughed again. He wasn't about to deny that accusation. Then he returned to the mundane business of cleaning up, as the Doctor had taught him. "Tidying up after providing medical treatment is an essential part of the process, Lieutenant Paris." After checking to make sure that B'Elanna's bleeding was under control, Tom carefully rolled her from side to side and replaced the fouled blanket with a clean one. Once he'd covered her again, Tom could finally throw his head back and take a breather. Baby was here. Mother was okay. Father had managed not to screw up. All was right with the universe.

And then he heard a sob.

=/\=

B'Elanna reached out to stroke her baby's little body, holding her still a moment so that she could study Linnis' face. Yes, her Klingon heritage was plain to see on her forehead, but it was even softer than B'Elanna's own ridges had been when she had born, to judge from the holos her mother had shown B'Elanna of herself as a newborn. Hopefully, Linnis' personality was also softer! From the sounds of her cries, she had something of her mother's Klingon temperament. Well, a crying baby was a good sign, right? The lungs certainly seemed to be in good working order; that boded well for the rest of her. Still, it must be hard on her little throat to be wailing so lustily.

B'Elanna impulsively began to talk to her baby. "Oh, my. Look at you! Such a sweet baby! Shhh. Don't cry so hard, Sweetie. I'm sorry it's all so crazy. I thought you were going to be born in the same bed that Daddy and I sleep in, with the Doctor to help us so that Daddy could be talking to us right now, but he's so busy now he can't talk. Those nasty bad Hirogen had other ideas. So, Linnis, I'm afraid you're visiting Engineering a lot sooner than I ever expected you would. You'll be helping out here before you know it, but you've got to grow up a little more before you can help Mommy here. There, that's it. You just listen to me, now. You don't have to cry any more. I don't know many baby songs, but maybe I can hum a little . . ."

Her humming lasted for only a few seconds before Tom interrupted them. "Let me hold her a minute, will you?"

"Sure," B'Elanna said, smiling as he picked the baby up to lean her gingerly against his bare chest. Linnis seemed so tiny nestled in his big hands. At the sight, B'Elanna felt so grateful that they had chosen to make a life together with their baby. Tom Paris might possess a flippant attitude, a cutting sense of humor, and a shaky self-image upon occasion, but when he let his guard down and allowed his sensitive true nature show, she couldn't think of anyone with more love in his heart. As she watched him cuddle the baby before gently putting her down to wipe her off, B'Elanna couldn't keep herself from smiling. At that moment, she wouldn't have minded if she were naked and dancing with a naked Bolian, as he'd joked on the day he found her so engrossed in Tuvok's "Insurrection Alpha" program, she'd missed their lunch date--although she had to admit she was feeling pretty uncomfortable from lying half-naked on the cold floor of Engineering.

She cared even less when Tom, having wrapped the baby in makeshift baby clothing, picked Linnis up again and looked into her face. As awe and love spread over her husband's face, B'Elanna felt her own heart expand with intense feelings that she could barely formulate into coherent thoughts, let alone words. Incredibly moved, she watched Tom kiss little Linnis on her Klingon forehead and hug her close. His eyes met B'Elanna's, and they shared a moment that she would remember for the rest of her life. Their beginnings as a family may have been rocky and unplanned, haphazard in the extreme, yet now, B'Elanna could not imagine a time she didn't know Tom and love him and their daughter. She knew it had not always been like this. Intellectually, she could remember the time before she met him and knew their family existed, but her soul refused to recognize it.

Somehow, incredibly, it was as if it was all meant to be.

Her warm thoughts were disrupted when she became more aware of her discomfort. She didn't feel the cramping that would accompany the final part of her delivery that she knew would be coming, but there was some soreness where the baby had emerged from her. //Is it really possible I was able to pass something as large as Linnis out of my body without being torn to shreds?// she marveled.

She didn't know if she'd made some sort of sign, but Tom chose that moment to lower the baby to his Army jacket, which he'd left laid open on the floor. Linnis seemed to prefer being held by her father, though. She had caught the open front flap of his shirt and didn't seem to want to let go.

"We're going to have to get something straight, Linnis. I'm the one who gets to take off Daddy's shirt, understand?" B'Elanna admonished gently as she awkwardly rolled towards her daughter, trying to minimize the pressure on her aching bottom. Tom, to her delight, laughed and kissed B'Elanna on the forehead in the same way he had their daughter. After helping him free himself from the tight grasp of their little girl so that he could wrap her up in the jacket, B'Elanna accepted the precious burden he handed her and leaned back to rest.

In no time at all, Tom had helped her deliver the afterbirth and covered her with a blanket. His strong hands were massaging her stomach to stop the bleeding, when he suggested, "Try to nurse the baby. It will help control the bleeding--it will make your uterus contract."

B'Elanna was thankful for the reminder. While she had questioned the need for the Doctor's "childbirth preparation class" when it had seemed to be an annoying interruption of her busy schedule, she no longer felt the time had been wasted. Thanks to all of those practice sessions, Tom and she had worked well together during the birth, and the Doctor's information was still paying dividends.

Even though he was still kneading her abdomen, Tom was able to steady the baby with his free hand while B'Elanna fumbled with her dress top. After finally managing to uncover her breast, B'Elanna tried to coax the baby to turn her face towards the bared nipple. She was unsuccessful until she remembered another bit of the Doctor's advice: "Brush the nipple against the baby's cheek, and voila! She will know exactly what to do, Lieutenant. You'll see."

Just as the EMH had predicted, the minuscule mouth opened and closed around what had been offered, prompted by instinct. The baby tugged experimentally with the nipple for a few seconds before latching on fairly well and pulling it in, establishing a rough and unsteady rhythm that, nonetheless, seemed well able to get the job done.

Relieved, B'Elanna sighed, "Linnis, you've got a pretty hard suck for somebody who was just born."

"She must take after her mother. All business," remarked Tom.

B'Elanna glanced at him, flashing a smile at his smirk. He could still be such a smart-aleck, although she'd found how much she loved to see that side of him. B'Elanna riposted that the baby's talent for sucking on B'Elanna's breasts might have come from the Paris side of the family, too--which made Tom chuckle. B'Elanna lay back, content, losing herself in the sensations of the baby sucking her nipple and Tom's tender loving care of her. The baby didn't nurse too long, falling asleep with her mouth still on her mother's breast, but B'Elanna didn't mind. Feeling at peace for one of the few times in her life, B'Elanna enjoyed the feel of Tom's hands on her body as he did what he had to do for her, allowing her mind to wander.

Since she had gone on a simple away mission with Tom, her life had evolved to a staggering degree. All they were supposed to do was spend a few hours digging dilithium crystals out of a cliff. Instead, when they'd been stranded, her entire life had been turned upside down. It was a shock, but a very welcome one, that she'd found something she'd hoped to find for as long as she could remember. She'd discovered a man who could look past her forehead and love the person within--or both people warring within her, to be precise.

But then, Tom Paris was uniquely qualified to love B'Elanna Torres. Who better than him? This man had seen both her human and Klingon selves after a Vidiian scientist on a prison planet had separated her into two entities. He had comforted the human part of her when her courage wavered by telling her that fear was not something to be ashamed of, but to be overcome. After he'd flirted with her for months, to nothing but derision from B'Elanna, an assault on B'Elanna by a Vulcan crazed by the pon farr made her throw herself at Tom in the caves of a lost mining colony. Despite his own desire to make love to her, he'd shown only compassion for what was best for her. And later, after she'd denied the truth she'd revealed to Tom about her desire for him while under the influence of her Klingon blood fever, Tom had let her know that he was not afraid of her Klingon passions but rather looked forward to seeing them again someday, when she "really meant it."

Then came Tantrum, and learning what love with him was like, and then running away from it, fearing the loss of her independence so much that she'd pushed him away, almost destroying the best thing that had ever happened to her. A shiver went down her spine as B'Elanna remembered the aftermath. Breaking off the romance, and then finding out that she was pregnant, and then . . .

Tears ran down her face and a sob ripped out of her throat as she recalled the ghastly thing she'd almost done.

Tom pulled her into his arms, checking to make sure that the still-sleeping Linnis wasn't crushed between them. His voice was reassuring, but he was totally ignorant of the true source of his wife's distress. "B'Elanna, everything seems fine. Are you in a lot of pain? There might have been a little tearing, but the Doc can fix that, or maybe I can if we're here much . . ."

"No, no, that's not it," B'Elanna wept. "Oh, Tom! I came so close to not having her--to getting rid of her! I can't believe I even thought of doing such a thing! How could I?"

He rocked her gently. "It's okay," he soothed. "Don't be upset. You didn't go through with it. You have your daughter in your arms, and she's healthy and beautiful, just as beautiful as you are. And tough! Even the Hirogen couldn't stop her from getting here! Don't worry about the past, B'Elanna, especially about something you never did!"

B'Elanna shook her head from side to side and cried, unable to answer. She hugged Linnis close. It was true; she hadn't aborted her; but it had been such a close, close thing! Looking back now, B'Elanna could see how she had let herself be diverted from having the "procedure" because in her secret heart of hearts, she had always wanted to give birth to this baby and love her--and her baby's father. She just hadn't been able to admit it to herself, any more than she'd been able to admit her love for Tom before the blood fever forced it out of her. All her life, she'd been pursuing love and pushing it away at the same time. This was just another example, and almost the most tragic example of all.

If the Doctor had not followed policy, if he had acquiesced to her demand for an abortion when she'd first found out about her pregnancy, would she have lived to regret it as bitterly as she now regretted the fact she'd even asked for it?

Whether or not to end a pregnancy was a choice that each woman must make for herself, B'Elanna accepted that. Perhaps there could be very good reasons for making a different decision than the one that B'Elanna had ultimately made in some cases. As she felt her emotions churning within her, however, B'Elanna realized that for her, in all probability, she would have regretted ending this pregnancy. For the rest of her life she would have lived through times like this, times when she would have recognized what she'd done and been tortured by overwhelming guilt and grief that she had not given her child the opportunity to be born. Thank God, thank Kahless, thank infinite eternity for the way she'd dragged her feet about having that abortion until Tom had had the time to discover the truth--until he could let her know just how much he loved her and wanted to create a family with her--the family they now had established.

B'Elanna's slight body shook while Tom comforted her by holding her close, murmuring, "Everything's going to be all right, B'Elanna, I promise. I'm here. You know how I feel about you, don't you? About both of you? I love you. It'll be okay, B'Elanna. It's all going to be okay."

Gradually, as Tom kissed away her tears and rubbed her body with his hands, the bitterness of the memory and the intensity of her emotions ebbed. Lifting her face to him, she kissed him on the lips. His gentle kiss in return eased her mind and helped her relax into his embrace.

"Are you okay now, Be'? I want both of my 'women' to be feeling fine when we introduce our newest member of the crew to her adoring public," Tom said, softly touching the baby's face as he straightened B'Elanna's top, covering her bare breast now that the baby was no longer attached to it.

Feeling too exhausted to say much, B'Elanna nodded her head to let Tom know she agreed. Adjusting the bundle of flesh and blood she held in her arms so she could see better, B'Elanna gazed upon her sleeping baby's face. Tom was right. Linnis was beautiful, the most beautiful baby B'Elanna had ever seen. Relieved and grateful she'd been saved from making a terrible mistake by accepting Tom's love, B'Elanna hugged her child, but gently so as not to wake her. With a sigh, B'Elanna rested her head against Tom's shoulder as he invited Harry and Seven to come meet baby Linnis.

=/\=

The graphic demonstration of the human reproductive process which had been proceeding for some time now was coming to a climax, Seven concluded, if she was interpreting the sounds issuing from out of the area of Engineering designated the "Chief Engineer's Office" correctly. Lieutenant Torres was responding to Lieutenant Paris' admonishments to "Bear down, B'Elanna! Keep it going!" with rolling grunting/growling sounds that sounded like they would be irritating in the extreme to the throat.

Then Lieutenant Paris called out, "Here she comes! B'Elanna, look! She's here. Our Linnis is here. B'Elanna, she's gorgeous. She looks just like you!"

At the sound of an infant crying, Seven looked up from her examination of the plasma conduits. During her perusal of the texts describing human sexuality, Seven had naturally included the process of birth, the end product of single-cell reproduction, as a subject worthy of study. Having the process occur right in front of her had distracted her for a surprising amount of time from the efficient performance of her assigned tasks. She had underestimated the intensity of the experience on both the participants themselves as well as those who, like Ensign Kim and herself, were merely bystanders.

From the look of Lieutenant Paris and the chief engineer, a great deal of blood must be shed during the birthing process. It was comparable to the amount lost during the removal of an arm from a newly assimilated drone who was getting a functional limb, or when a biological eye was replaced with an ocular implant. Once Lt. Paris had removed the bloody blanket that had been beneath his wife's legs along with the placental tissues, Seven could finally pay full attention to the repairs she should have be completing instead of watching the birth. Ensign Kim, who had stood quietly beside her observing the event as well, presumably had also returned to working at their task, unless he was still staring at the newly-arrived child.

Curious to see what he was doing, Seven looked to her left. Ensign Kim was doing neither; rather, he was leaning against the wall, his unfocused eyes staring at a metal panel directly in front of him.

"Ensign Kim, do you require assistance?"

Slowly, as if awakening from a regeneration cycle, Harry swung his eyes towards Seven. She noted Harry's visual reception change from something seen very far away, or perhaps totally unseen and internal, to the sharp look of an aware being, several seconds after his gaze fastened upon hers. His expression was difficult to interpret, but that was not an unusual occurrence. She was unable to read the expressions of many on board Voyager.

"No, it's okay, Seven. I'm all right. Are they okay, too?"

"All appear to be in satisfactory condition, except for yourself. Are you unwell?"

"No. I just . . . I just thought I heard Tom call out something I . . . What name did he call the baby?"

Although Lieutenant Torres had just addressed her child by name, Seven could not be sure, because of Ensign Kim's apparent confusion, that he had heard her. Seven felt it was appropriate that she answer his question. "Her parents have apparently bestowed the designation of Linnis upon the child . . . ."

Seven observed Ensign Kim as he closed his eyes and looked away from the infant and her parents. He appeared to be in a deep meditative state, standing in one spot without moving for an extended period. Seven returned to her tasks, but she looked up several times to see if Ensign Kim had returned to his own duties. He had not.

She was about to inquire again if he required her assistance when a slow smile began to spread over his face. He opened his eyes and moved to where he could view the proceedings more easily. Seven found this incomprehensible, considering his previous behavior, but before she could discuss this, Lieutenant Paris addressed them both. "Harry? Seven? How would you like to meet Linnis Kathryn Paris?"

Seven was about to refuse, saying that being introduced to the child during this stage of the procedure Ensign Kim and she were in the process of completing would not be advisable, particularly since they had barely accomplished anything for the past hour, but Harry said, "Give us a minute to finish up here." A quick check into the open plasma conduit cover confirmed that their task was closer to completion than she had anticipated. Chagrined that she had been so distracted she had not even realized this, Seven moved closer to Harry, working in tandem to effect the remaining steps of the repair in very short order. Although Seven continued to perceive that Ensign Kim was not totally attentive to the task at hand, they worked well enough together that they were able to complete the assignment within the allotted time period of sixty standard seconds, as the ensign had predicted. Closing the cover, Seven turned and found Ensign Kim to be standing very close to her. Or, perhaps, it was she who was standing very close to him, close enough for their bodies to brush against one another. The sensation was not unpleasant.

The operations officer followed this contact by performing a much more deliberate action, moving his hand upon Seven's spine and directing her to step around the support strut. They approached the chief engineer where she was lying with her child in her arms. Lieutenant Paris hovered over both of them. The helmsman was dressed only in his Army shirt. His undershirt and jacket were wrapped around the child. Now that the birth was over, Lt. Torres appeared ready to slip into sleep. Her eyelids closed several times while Seven of Nine looked at the expanded Collective of three.

"Assimilation appears to be a much more efficient process for reproduction of a species than single cell reproduction," Seven stated, suddenly realizing that Ensign Kim had never responded to her previous question about the subject.

"That may be, Seven, but believe me, this is a lot more fun." Lieutenant Paris' face had assumed the expression designated as a 'smirk,' according to Captain Janeway lessons concerning human behavior.

"Fun is . . ."

". . . irrelevant. Yes, I know," Tom finished for her.

Lt. Torres shook her head and opened her eyes. She looked at Ensign Kim and said, "Harry, you don't mind, do you? We wanted to honor her. If it bothers you for us to use the name you and Kes would have used, we can change it."

"No, that's fine, B'Elanna. Really. I admit, I was a little surprised when I heard it just now. I thought I'd only mentioned it once."

"I think it was only once, but it's such a pretty name; it stuck in my memory. It suits her, don't you think?" asks Tom. 

"Yes, it does," Harry replied wistfully.

Any further comment was halted by a shout from Joe Carey. "Lieutenant Torres? Harry? Are you there?"

"Over here, Joe," called out Harry. "We've got somebody here for you to meet."

Carey, Sue Nicoletti, and five other engineers from Lieutenant Torres' staff entered the chief engineer's office, to be introduced to the newest crew member--and to receive their marching orders from the chief engineer. "We need to get communications back, Joe, and the whole power system needs a thorough Level One Diagnostic, and we've got to get the replicators . . ."

". . . back on line. I know. That's what the captain said to us when she sent us down here. She was pretty worried about not hearing from any of the people who were sent down to Engineering. She thought the Hirogen had taken over here," Carey confided.

"No, nothing like that. We just didn't have enough hands to do the work. That shouldn't be a problem now. Harry? Seven? You're going to stay and help, right? We need to get somebody up to Cargo Bay Two to get parts . . ."

Nicoletti laughed. "Having a baby doesn't seem to have slowed you down any, Lieutenant. We can't get up to Cargo Bay Two now. That's one of the places the Hirogen are entrenched. We managed to hook a portable power supply and replicator from what's left of Sickbay, though."

"Parts for the Comm system. We need to replicate some parts," Ensign Kim quickly said.

"Can do. Just give me a few seconds to set things up," Carey said, adding, "but are you sure you don't want to replicate a little champagne first, to celebrate?"

"Get the Comm system up, then you can do champagne," Lieutenant Torres yawned. Seven observed the Chief Engineer's eyes fluttering to a close.

"You got it, Chief," Carey laughed, nodding to Nicoletti, who was already connecting the replicator to the power source.

"And get moving on the main power system, too," Lieutenant Torres mumbled. Lieutenant Paris lay down next to his wife, his arms wrapped around her and the infant she was holding. Seven went back to work, tagging three of the engineers to help her check the bioneural gelpacks in the Engineering section. She did not expect the chief engineer to countermand her change of priorities. From Seven's observations, she predicted that the chief engineer had entered a sleep cycle.

Seven was not mistaken.

=/\=

Harry shook Tom by the shoulders. "Tom, we've got the transporters back up and running. You want us to transport the three of you to the mess hall?"

"Already?" Tom said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"Already! You've been asleep for over four hours! Even without B'Elanna cracking the whip we were able to get a few things done in that amount of time."

"I guess so, but don't let the chief engineer hear you say that."

"Not a word," Harry smiled.

Tom tightened his arms around his family. Neither B'Elanna nor the baby had moved a muscle throughout the verbal exchange. "Thanks for bringing the blankets and pillows, Harry. Give Seven our thanks, too. I guess this is it for now. You'd better get back to taking care of B'Elanna's engines. Don't mess them up, or she'll come after you, new baby or not."

Harry chuckled, but before he could respond to Tom's remark, Lieutenant Carey announced, "Three to be transported to Sick . . . I mean, the mess hall." The familiar sparkling light of the transporter beam appeared and carried the small family away from sight. "Do you think the Doctor will be mad at Tom for delivering the baby instead of him?" Carey asked as he strolled towards Harry.

"Joe, you can count on it," Harry replied with a chuckle. After Carey had returned to his repair tasks, however, Harry found himself staring at the place where the Paris family had been lying, marked by a pile of wet and bloodied clothing and blankets which needed to go into the recycler. The only other sign they had been there was the medical kit propped against the support strut, where B'Elanna had hung just a short time ago. There had certainly been a lot of excitement during the past few weeks, culminating in the miracle that he had just witnessed. So much excitement, but so much still to do. His melancholy mood had not totally left him, but standing here pondering it wasn't going to make that go away. Work might, however.

Harry started to turn around on his heel to go find another engineering task now that the transporters were again functional. He almost stumbled over Seven of Nine, who was standing so closely behind him that he had to take a step back to avoid stomping on one of her feet.

"Ensign Kim, will you be able to pay attention to task now that Lieutenants Paris and Torres are gone?"

"Sure," Harry grunted defensively, interpreting her comment as a criticism.

Seven stared at him intently. "Ensign Kim, are you certain? You have been distracted most of the day. Are you sure I cannot render assistance to you?"

Harry wondered if this conversation was going where the last one had, since he wasn't prepared to deflect another question about his experience in single cell reproductive techniques. He started to change the subject before realizing he actually wanted to talk about his feelings with someone. Anyone. Even Seven. "No, that's okay. I just . . . I just got a chance to look at my future. One that never was and never will be, but maybe another that can. It threw me a little. I'll be fine."

"I do not comprehend."

"I'm not sure I do either, Seven. Let's get back to work, before B'Elanna hustles down here again with her baby on her back to whip us both back into shape."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I do not require whippings to perform my assigned tasks. Nor to get 'back' into shape. If anything, Lieutenant Torres will need to 'whip herself into shape' now that she has achieved parturition."

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. "I think you'd better not let B'Elanna hear you say that. She might take it the wrong way. Or maybe she'd take it the right way. Either way, I don't think she'd take it too well."

"I defer to your judgment, but we must return to our duties. It is counterproductive to waste time over personal disagreements. Diagnostics on the nacelles are required, as are repairs to the damage sustained from the Hirogen's adaptations--unless you wish to recalibrate the containment fields in the matter-antimatter chamber. There are a multitude of tasks that must be done."

"You're right, Seven. It's time to get on with it."

At the sight of Seven's raised eyebrow, Harry realized that his answer may not have been specific enough. He'd said what he had to, although there was a double meaning to his words that he would no longer ignore. That was exactly what he needed to do. Get on with life, something he'd only pretended to do for much too long. 

As they walked towards the matter-antimatter chamber to work on adjustments to the containment field, Harry had left enough space between himself and his companion in front of him to notice just how trim the posterior of Seven of Nine looked in the snugly fitting black outfit she'd worn in the holodeck simulation. For the first time in a very long time, Harry blushed as thoughts of a tactile nature passed through his mind. //Me and Seven of Nine??? Wherever did that thought come from?//

=/\=

::::Captain's log, Stardate 51715.2. The damage to Voyager has been extreme. Both sides have taken heavy casualties, and it's clear that no one is going to win this conflict. The fighting has reached a standstill and the remaining Hirogen have agreed to negotiate a truce.::::

"It is time, Captain."

Kathryn Janeway nodded her approval as Tuvok picked up the device resting on her desk. It was an essential component of all holodeck technology. As they exited her ready room, Chakotay indicated to Harry Kim that he had command, striding the turbolift after Tuvok. As they rode in silence down to Deck Eight, where a team of Tuvok's security forces awaited them. They could not see around the curving corridor or into Cargo Bay Two, but she knew who would be meeting them there.

"You sure about this, Kathryn?" Chakotay asked softly. "There will be some who will complain that this is a Prime Directive violation when we get home."

She smiled crookedly, with little humor evident despite her expression. "If the race that built the communication array and hunted hundreds of warp-capable species throughout this quadrant in their own warp drive ships doesn't qualify for trade with the Federation, then no one does."

"A trade, Captain?" Tuvok's right eyebrow was raised quizzically. "And what are the Hirogen trading to us?"

She smoothed away an errant lock of hair from in front of her eye as she grimly replied, "Our lives, Tuvok. Our lives, in return for a little fantasy that might save a civilization--if they're lucky. We're alone in this quadrant. The Hirogen are not. If they are willing to grant us safe passage through their space for holodeck technology, the trade is fair. More than fair."

They all stood at attention as they heard the clump of heavy boots in the corridor outside of Cargo Bay Two. At Kathryn's signal, the Voyager representatives marched through the Cargo Bay entrance. A group of Hirogen, dressed in the traditional armor of the Hunter, approached from the other direction.

The leader of the Hirogen looked down at the device the Voyager crew offered. "What is this?"

"You can use this to create simulations on your own vessels like the ones you experienced here, where you hunted us. I made a promise with your leader, before he died, that I would give this knowledge to the Hirogen. Take it."

The new Hirogen leader, hesitating, said gruffly, "His ideas were unconventional. I do not share them."

Kathryn smiled. "Was he any more unconventional than you are? Calling a cease-fire with your Prey? Only a few days ago the thought of speaking with us on equal terms would've been inconceivable, but here we are. Accept this . . . trophy. You can use it to create a new future for your people. At the very least, you can hang it on your bulkhead."

Dipping his head respectfully, the new leader of the Hirogen accepted the device, shifting it from side to side as if visualizing where this trophy could best be displayed on his ship.

"And someday," Kathryn said, "you may discover that you no longer find his ideas so unconventional and will learn to use this device. Caahrr was a worthy and honorable foe, and very wise. He wanted your people to flourish. He sacrificed his life to purse that goal. There are worse examples to follow."

The Hirogen turned the object over again before looking at Janeway. Their eyes met. It was hard to tell, from the intelligence which shone from both sets of eyes, which might be the hunters, and which, the pursued. He nodded again in respect, putting her observation into words: "And you are such cunning Prey that perhaps, instead, you are also Hunters."

Kathryn smiled wistfully, wishing that another voice had been able to deliver that message. "It is an honor to hear you say so. I consider it a compliment."

=/\=

Somewhere, not far away, a melancholy, non-corporeal smile marked the spirit of a watcher. The watcher was pleased, for the people of Voyager had survived again, although not without experiencing tragedy and pain.

The watcher was sorrowful that the life of a being of vision and intelligence had been sacrificed to save his people from their own excesses; but by his death, he had salvaged their future. His race ruthlessly hunted others, yet they themselves were on the verge of extinction. The martyr had found a way for them to live without destroying others or giving up the Hunt which they loved so much. Someday, she knew, he would find honor from his own. She was pleased that this was so.

Even more, the watcher was pleased by the subtle change in the relationship between two of the inhabitants of Voyager. A promise made at what amounted to the point of death might someday be fulfilled, even though it would be in a radically different manner than the spirit had expected when she still had corporeal form.

There was so much for this watcher to do before a safe harbor for Voyager and her people could be reached, but she was working on it. And that definitely pleased her.

 

=/\=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Deliverance": In the actual Star Trek: Voyager series finale "Endgame," B'Elanna gave birth to her first child in Sickbay during a crisis, but Engineering just seems to be the perfect place for her to deliver a child. The producers were kind enough to present "The Killing Game, Parts 1 & 2," both written by Brannon Braga and Joe Menosky, at just the right time for Linnis to make her debut in Engineering, in the midst of the Hirogen occupation. I'm very appreciative, guys. (Little Miral may still be delivered in Sickbay in the "Warmth" universe--or maybe not.) The references to the Ocampan way of birth were introduced in the episodes "Elogium," teleplay by Kenneth Biller and Jeri Taylor from a story by Jimmy Diggs and Steve J. Kay, and "Before and After," written by Kenneth Biller. The time-traveling Krenim, originally mentioned in "Before and After," were more fully explored in "The Year of Hell (Parts 1 and 2);" both episodes were written by Brannon Braga and Joe Menosky. Elements from "Blood Fever," written by Lisa Klink, and "Faces," teleplay by Kenneth Biller from a story by Jonathan Glassner and Kenneth Biller, also appear in the text.
> 
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


	5. Gramps

**Gramps**

 

From his many years of observing the humans who served with him on Starfleet vessels, Tuvok had learned to recognize the patterns of each shift which reflected the human day. Even when those experiencing that "day" had not spent significant amounts of time planetside in any solar system, familiar or new, for several years, the rhythmic pattern of a typical day was always present.

It was of no consequence that the concept of "day" was an artificial construct in the vastness of the interstellar regions, nor that a normal day was not the same length of time for everyone on board Voyager. Those originating on planets with a different rate of rotation as Earth's--namely, virtually all of the crew--were used to a different length day than the standard adopted by the Starfleet, itself a compromise length between the 24 hours of the Earth day and the somewhat longer Vulcan one. Beings of any race which required a resting/sleep period (which was all of the known humanoid species and most of the non-humanoid ones) needed time structured in a predictable manner in order to function properly. It was an intriguing fact, and undeniably true, even for Vulcans such as himself. Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, Chief Tactical Officer and Head of Security of Voyager, could well appreciate the need for structure, to maintain order and discipline.

So it was that during Alpha shift, most of the exploration, research, and repair work was undertaken aboard ship, since about half of the crew was on duty during those hours on any given Stardate. During Gamma shift, the least amount of productive work was done, as less than a tenth of the ship's complement was scheduled during this, the primary sleeping period aboard ship. Only during a crisis situation, when everyone had their own duty station to report to, was the full complement of staff awake and at their posts. No one could schedule in advance for a crisis, of course, and in any event, the adrenaline levels of humanoids shot up to compensate for the necessity of awaking those who were asleep. The titillation engendered by out-of-the-ordinary events tended to negate any feelings of resentment about being dragged out of bed early (if one had had the chance to retire at all). Fortunately, this did not happen very often on any shift. So, when asked, those on Gamma shift generally expressed the opinion that they were protecting the Voyager community from danger while the majority of the crew slept. They were caretakers, of a sort--although that word was seldom used. It had unpleasant connotations for this crew.

Gamma shift was not usually a very taxing time for one to be at one's post, Tuvok had found. It was possible to remain completely alert and have plenty of time for contemplation. For this reason, a significant segment of the Voyager population actually preferred Gamma shift. Commander Chakotay never seemed to have any trouble staffing Gamma with those who were perfectly content to be scheduled for that time of day.

And then there was Beta shift.

Beta shift was a hybrid, falling as it did in between the bustle of activities performed during Alpha shift and the quiet, marking- time-until-the-beginning-of-the-next-Alpha-shift texture of Gamma. Early in Beta shift, many of the crew who had not quite completed tasks upon which they had been engaged during Alpha shift would either remain in place to finish or would be forced to brief their replacements on what still needed to be accomplished. Only then could they retire for an evening meal. Some chose to go to the mess hall for some fellowship with their crew members. Others chose to have dinner in the privacy of their quarters. Still others didn't care where or what they ate, preferring to grab something quickly so that they could use the exercise room or indulge in an excursion to one of the holodecks.

Gradually the activity level would decline throughout Beta shift until, towards the end, it was often as quiet and contemplative a time as Gamma shift. While some of this increasing quiet was due to the completion of the day's tasks, there was another explanation which fit the facts.

Mutual misery.

During Beta shift, those who were assigned to Alpha could congregate with their fellows after going off duty. Those on Gamma could spend a large part of the ship's "day" sleeping, yet still have ample time to enjoy a variety of social activities with their fellows before reporting to their duty stations.

Those on duty for Beta, however, were stuck. Except for their mid-shift meal or other, even briefer breaks, those who served on this shift were responsible for keeping the ship and its residents safe while everyone else on board seemed to be having fun. Since virtually everyone hated to be on Beta shift, there was a natural tendency to sulk as the shift wore on.

The only ones who never expressed their loathing for Beta shift happened to be Lieutenant Commander Tuvok and his fellow Vulcan officer, Ensign Vorik, neither of whom would ever admit to loathing anything. Not coincidentally, both Vulcans tended to be scheduled for more than the average share of Beta shifts by Commander Chakotay.

On this particular evening, Lieutenant Commander Tuvok was sitting in the captain's chair on the bridge, awaiting the end of Beta shift. It had been a long day. He had been on duty for the first half of Alpha at Tactical, as well as in command of the ship all evening. In less than thirty minutes, however, he would be able to proceed to his quarters and meditate. Tuvok looked forward to practicing the mental disciplines he had learned long ago on Vulcan. Although he had never admitted it to anyone, meditation was essential for the maintenance of his self-control. He anticipated being released from duty by the arrival of Lieutenant Paris, who was to be in command during Gamma shift, as he had been frequently of late. Commander Chakotay scheduled the couple so that Lieutenant Torres was available to care for their infant daughter Linnis during ship's night. Mr. Paris cared for her during the ship's day. Neither one usually worked during Beta shift, when they shared the care of Linnis. That was Family Time.

Tuvok stifled a sudden, inappropriate impulse to sigh. He reminded himself, once again, that the hours to which he was assigned to perform his duties were of no consequence. Suffice it to say that this evening, he would very much welcome the arrival of Mr. Paris to take command of the bridge. Gamma shift . . . when he could finally retire to his quarters to meditate upon . . .

Tuvok's visualization of his future endeavors was broken by the beeping of his Comm badge. As soon as the channel opened, he knew the likely speaker and message. The loud shrieks of Linnis Paris virtually drowned out her father's voice. "Tuvok, I'm sorry. I'm going to be late for my shift. Can you cover for me?"

Tuvok hesitated only briefly before replying, "Of course, Mr. Paris." Obviously, "What seems to be the difficulty?" was an unnecessary question. "Has your daughter been crying in this fashion for long?"

"For the last couple of hours," the lieutenant answered, the strain from being unable to still his child's crying easily heard in the tight sound of his voice. "She's been having colic every night for over a week. We're taking her in to see the Doc . . . again . . . to see if he's found anything to help her yet."

"Understood. What time do you expect to be able to report?"

"I don't know, Tuvok. It'll be an hour, at least--maybe longer, judging from our last few visits there. We really need to get some answers soon, she's so . . . there, there, Sweetheart. It's going to be okay. Daddy's here."

This last, Tuvok realized immediately, was directed to the distressed infant who was screaming even more loudly in the helmsman's ear than when the Comm channel first opened. It did not sound as if relief would be coming soon for her, even with the Doctor's medical expertise. So far, the child had not responded to his treatments, which meant that Tuvok could not expect to be relieved from command any time soon, either, unless . . . "Perhaps you will not need to report this evening at all if Ensign Kim is willing to switch Gamma shifts with you. He is scheduled for tomorrow night."

"Thanks, Tuvok. If you can arrange that, I'd be very grateful," Tom replied, strengthening his voice to be heard over his daughter's cries.

"I will notify you as soon as I speak with Mr. Kim. Tuvok out." In the sudden silence on the bridge, Lieutenant Baxter's soft "Whew!" issuing from his station at Ops resounded noticeably. The lieutenant exchanged an abashed look of apology with his commanding officer, followed by a sympathetic one. It was universally acknowledged that extending one's duty shift past the end of Beta was to be avoided at all costs. 

After a discreet nod to thank Mr. Baxter for his expression of condolences, Tuvok activated his Comm badge and contacted Ensign Kim. Fortunately, Mr. Kim was just as eager to take command of the bridge a day earlier than expected as Tuvok had thought he would be. It was, after all, a Gamma shift.

=/\=

While waiting for Mr. Kim to arrive, during those rare moments when his attention was not consumed by ship's matters, Tuvok considered the status of the youngest inhabitants of the ship. In the closed society of Voyager, the entire crew was proving to be just as proprietary over Linnis as they had been over Naomi when she was a newborn, especially now that young Miss Wildman's Ktarian blood was causing her to grow out of toddlerhood by leaps and bounds. Everyone on Voyager had become either "Auntie" or "Uncle" to the two youngsters. Unsurprisingly, Linnis Paris' increasing distress had been a frequent subject of discussion amongst the crew during the past week.

It was not only a matter of Linnis being unhappy, as Tuvok well knew. The bridge was different when Mr. Paris was not at his usual place. It was a more solemn, dignified place, certainly, without Lieutenant Paris in attendance; but Tuvok did not find this to be as desirable a situation as he once might have expected.

While Mr. Paris often made offhanded, even sarcastic, comments on the bridge, Tuvok's impulse to discipline the helmsman was tempered by the fact that the captain could often be seen to smile--or more accurately, to stifle a laugh--at the pilot's witty remarks. Tuvok knew how effective humor was in providing humans with stress relief. In his opinion, anything which could reduce the captain's stress was to be tolerated, if not encouraged.

Too often of late, Captain Janeway's behavior appeared to be erratic, sometimes to the point of obsessiveness, to her security chief. This, he believed, was attributable to the intense pressures placed upon her by their unique situation in the Delta Quadrant. Her inability to consult with more senior command staff, compounded by her need to follow to the letter regulations requiring she remain apart from the crew despite her naturally gregarious nature, had had a profound effect upon her ability to maintain her emotional equilibrium. While she occasionally engaged in solitary pursuits such as reading or holodeck programs, the captain was not a woman who thrived on being alone. The disciplines of the mind which provided Tuvok with solace during his enforced separation from his family were foreign to her own natural inclinations.

Since Mr. Paris' humorous asides were among the very few devices which could break through to the real Kathryn Janeway, Tuvok could not bring himself to reprimand the young pilot harshly, even if normal command protocols might suggest otherwise. Voyager's situation could not, by any stretch of one's imagination, be considered normal. A more flexible course seemed eminently logical.

By the same token, the absence of B'Elanna Torres from Engineering when she needed to comfort her daughter was equally upsetting to the crew, even though everyone understood and accepted the reason for her absence. Lieutenant Torres' engineering skills were so far superior to that of anyone else (except, possibly, for the captain's) that subordinates were noticeably uneasy whenever she was not at her post. Even Seven's Borg knowledge was no substitute for Ms. Torres' ability to define and creatively solve a problem. In the Delta Quadrant, so far away from the usual sources of materials and support personnel, engineering snafus were the norm, not the exception. Being able to compensate for the scarcity of resources had been a key factor in the ability of Voyager and her crew to survive thus far, even under markedly hostile conditions. The chief engineer's staff "felt" more secure when she was in charge.

Tuvok had long since given up on trying to eliminate the crew's emotionalism. He had served a sufficient enough time with human beings to accept this trait as something beyond his ability to correct. However, as head of Security, he recognized the desirability of having Captain Janeway confidently in command of the ship, with Lieutenant Torres at her post in Engineering, ready to combat the worst obstacles that the Delta Quadrant could throw in their way. The distraction of a colicky baby was not appreciated by anyone, particularly Lieutenant Commander Tuvok.

It was predictable, then, that after much discussion, the ship's populace had made up a list of various homeopathic remedies to combat Linnis' condition. They'd presented it to Paris and Torres, much to the Doctor's displeasure--even though he himself had proposed a multitude of these same methods to relieve the youngster's distress.

Hybrid babies like Linnis were a challenge, even for the EMH. It was illogical to assume that folk medicines would work when the Doctor's most sophisticated treatments had failed. Lieutenant Commander Tuvok had refrained from intervening. If the search for a remedy diverted the attention of Engineering's staff and kept them from becoming unduly alarmed, he saw no reason to order them to stop their investigations. Unfortunately, to date, none of the concoctions suggested had worked. Perhaps it was time for another approach.

When Mr. Kim came onto the bridge only a minute late, close on the heels of Ensign Jenkins and Mr. Ayala, Tuvok quickly made his status report. "You are relieved, Commander," Harry stated eagerly when Tuvok had finished. Over eagerly, one might say. Ignoring the comment he was about to make to the young officer, Tuvok prepared to leave.

"Will you be in your quarters . . . in case I . . . just in case?" Harry asked quietly, so softly that it was likely only Tuvok's sharp ears could have caught the last phrase.

"I intend to stop in at Sickbay. One of my children, early in infancy, exhibited symptoms similar to those which are causing Linnis Paris to suffer. I may be of some assistance to Mr. Paris and Ms. Torres."

"Chamomile tea."

"What, Mr. Kim?"

"My mother swore by chamomile tea. I replicated them some, but B'Elanna is afraid to give any to Linnis. The Doc scared her when he told B'Elanna the baby might be allergic to it, but maybe if it comes from you . . . " Mr. Kim said hopefully.

Tuvok raised his left eyebrow thoughtfully. "I am familiar with the herb's properties from my time on Earth. I will consider suggesting it. If my analysis of the true nature of the problem is correct, another course of action may prove just as beneficial. At any rate, Mr. Kim, you now have the bridge."

"Aye, sir!" Harry replied heartily, beaming with pride. As he turned to enter the turbolift, Tuvok's eyes met those of Mr. Ayala, who was smiling broadly. Tuvok nodded to his subordinate, who answered with a dip of his head to acknowledge it. There was no need for concern about Mr. Kim's assumption of bridge duty with Ayala's steady, silent support at tactical. 

As the turbolift door closed, Tuvok heard Mr. Kim ask for the helm status report in a tone of voice remarkably like the captain's, followed by Ensign Jenkins' quick, business-like reply. Tuvok revised his assessment. While it was expedient that Mr. Ayala was on duty for Ensign Kim's shift, it was likely that the ship was in good hands with Mr. Kim, with or without Ayala's presence.

=/\=

". . . nothing is working, Doctor! We've tried everything and just listen to her! We might as well try that camel tea Harry suggested!"

"Chamomile," Tom corrected, gently patting B'Elanna on the back to calm her down. B'Elanna's agitation seemed to be making the wailing baby in her arms cry even harder.

"Whatever! Anything, to get her to sleep!"

"Lieutenant Torres, I have some grave concerns about the effects that tea might have on her immature digestive system."

"Maybe we should try just a little, Doc? Can it really hurt her that much? Nothing else is working the way you expect," Tom said carefully. He didn't want provoke the EMH, but Tom was willing to try almost anything to relieve his daughter's distress, just as B'Elanna was. 

"I'd prefer to take a more cautious approach. Linnis' mixed Klingon and human digestive enzymes at this stage of life are causing pockets of gas which . . . "

"Which is exactly what Harry said the chamomile tea is supposed to help," Tom replied, trying to keep his voice level, though his nerves were frayed by the crying.

"If my medications haven't worked, it is doubtful that giving her an infusion of dried flowers in water which has not been extensively tested as to its effectiveness on Klingons would help her, either. Trust the two of you to have a baby that doesn't respond to medication in predictable ways," the Doctor added with a sniff.

As B'Elanna visibly stiffened in anger, Linnis screeched out an even sharper shriek of pain. Tom took Linnis out of B'Elanna's arms to try to soothe her--to soothe all of them, if truth be told. He was concentrating so intensely on murmuring to his daughter that he was unaware the Sickbay doors had opened until Tuvok offered, "May I be of assistance to you, Mr. Paris?"

"Thanks, Tuvok but I wouldn't want to burden you. The way Linnis is now, it would be pretty hard on a Vulcan."

"May I remind you, Lieutenant, that as a parent, I have had to deal with a crying infant on many occasions. I doubt that holding your daughter would be a 'burden' to me no matter how hard she cries."

"Vulcan babies cry?" asked Tom in surprise.

"Certainly. Vulcan babies express their distress when they are uncomfortable, just like those of any other species. All newborn organisms must adjust to new environmental conditions. Floating in warm amniotic fluid is a totally different experience from being carried in the arms of a parent, with the skin assailed by what must appear to the newborn's senses as parchingly dry air. Although on Voyager Earth standards of humidity are maintained, it is a shock to the baby's system, nonetheless. On Vulcan, this contrast is even greater. When the conditions of the birth were somewhat chaotic, as they were in Linnis' case, this transition can be even more bewildering to the newborn."

"I can't deny that," Tom said, flashing back to the delivery of his baby in the middle of Engineering, in the midst of the Hirogen crisis.

"Ingesting nourishment via the mouth is also very different from her previous experience, when she effortlessly obtained all necessary nutrients directly into her bloodstream through the placenta," Tuvok continued. "Now she must make a significant effort by sucking at the breast to obtain milk. The process of digesting food is very new to her. I believe this is your hypothesis, Doctor? That her digestive system has not yet adjusted properly to the food she must eat?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I . . ."

"While this may be true, her mother's milk remains the best food for her, is it not, Doctor?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"Rather than introducing other substances to her diet at this time, other ways of calming her may be indicated." Tuvok had deftly removed Linnis from Tom's arms and settled her into his own, nodding thoughtfully as he stroked the screaming baby's back. "I must concur with the Doctor's diagnosis. Linnis is suffering abdominal pain, with a high probability that his supposition about gas from an incompletely matured digestive system is correct. The intake of air from crying has exacerbated her discomfort. This condition is not unknown in Vulcan infants. My second son Varith was afflicted with this problem during his first two months of life. The recommended treatment for a Vulcan infant include being held by the parent, with changes of position, manipulation of the back, and rhythmic movements while soothing sounds are made."

"We've been doing that, Tuvok! It hasn't been working!" cried B'Elanna, her voice sharpened by fatigue.

"Just because it has not yet worked does not mean it never will. You must persevere, Lieutenant, or allow me to assist you."

"You're a stranger to her. Won't that make her worse?"

"On the contrary, since you are upset, your own anxiety is being communicated to her, worsening her condition. I have a degree of detachment in this situation that may help you both while you attempt to calm yourself."

"Calm! How can I stay calm when my baby is shrieking in pain?" B'Elanna asked through clenched teeth.

"Of course it is difficult for a new parent to hear one's child suffer in this way. Crying is meant to be disquieting. In this way the infant can be assured of obtaining assistance." Tuvok's carefully modulated voice became even mellower. He spoke deliberately, in a cadence that was more like a chant or song than normal speech. All the while, he rocked Linnis steadily, like a pendulum. Suddenly, the baby pulled up her legs. After the hiss of expelling gas was heard, Linnis' crying lessened noticeably.

The Doctor harumphed and said, somewhat sarcastically, "Thank you, Commander. This has been a most helpful demonstration . . ."

"The Doc's right. You have the magic touch! Thanks, Tuvok," Tom said sincerely as B'Elanna reached out for their daughter.

Tuvok hesitated a moment before reluctantly relinquishing his small charge. "There are other techniques which can be used to assist Linnis. I can share them with you, if you wish."

"Thanks, Commander, but I'm sure we can . . ."

Linnis' renewed cry of anguish rudely interrupted her mother's comment. Smoothly, Tuvok interceded again, plucking the child from her mother's arms. Tuvok's body swayed gently as he walked slowly around the perimeter of Sickbay at a measured, stately pace, all the while patting Linnis on the back. "Lieutenant Torres, I would recommend that someone other than yourself be the one to soothe Linnis when she becomes upset. The scent of the mother, as the source of food, can overstimulate a new baby."

"But . . ."

"Which is exactly what I told you several hours ago, Lieutenant Torres," said the EMH, "and yesterday, and the day before that."

Tom embraced his wife a little more tightly as her anger threatened to erupt forcefully. "B'Elanna, they might have a point. She does seem to do a little better when I'm holding her. Although . . . Tuvok, how are you doing that? She's really quieted down for you." With every step Tuvok took, Linnis' cries became less intense. In the time it took for Tuvok to make one full circuit of the room, they had been reduced to a muted whimpering, although from the jerky way Linnis was moving in Tuvok's arms, Tom could tell gas pains were still bothering her. 

"I am projecting quieting thoughts--orderly thoughts."

"Are you saying that you are mind melding with my baby?" B'Elanna asked dangerously.

Tuvok replied in a whisper soft voice, "I am not melding with her mind in the normal sense. It is too unformed at this time for that. I am sending her images of peace and tranquility, however. It is very important for the parent to remain completely calm at times like these."

"And we all know how good I am at being calm!" B'Elanna hissed, as Tom restrained her from launching herself at the Vulcan.

"B'Elanna, maybe we shouldn't argue with success," Tom said placatingly. "Look. I think Linnis is actually falling asleep in Tuvok's arms!"

B'Elanna leaned back against him at that. It was undeniably true. After another hiss announced she had expelled more gas, Linnis began to bump her forehead against Tuvok's shoulder. Her eyes drifted to a close despite her efforts to keep them open.

Unperturbed, Tuvok lectured softly, "Sleep is what she requires at this time. Relaxation leads to the release of the gas which troubles her. Releasing the gas removes the pain. Normally, this would allow her to fall asleep. However, even when there is no pain, she has learned to expect it will come again. She is overtired from crying, making her too tense to rest. By maintaining an inner calm, I am removing one obstacle to her being able to relax enough to fall asleep."

"I see," B'Elanna said reluctantly.

"Lieutenant, you have nothing to fear. Your daughter is learning something vital: that although pains may afflict her, they will eventually pass--once she stops crying. Allow me to provide the first lessons in the organization of the mind a Vulcan infant undergoes, preparing him or her for future training in the mental disciplines. If I do this, she may not react so strongly to a minor pain the next time. Another episode of colic may be circumvented."

"But Linnis isn't Vulcan."

"No, but that does not mean she cannot benefit from that which Vulcan infants receive from their parents. Vulcans are not born with telepathic abilities or emotional control; neither are inherent in our natures. They must be taught. The first lessons in mental disciplines are provided by parents while nurturing their infants. Although Linnis may not be able to go on as Vulcan children do, since she is not born of a telepathic race, the initial lessons should calm her. A calm infant of any race will experience less pain."

"How did you find out this would work for babies that weren't Vulcan, Tuvok?" asked Tom.

"During my years teaching at Starfleet Academy I had occasion to assist colleagues with their children. My services were frequently sought by other officers with new infants."

"I'll just bet they were," Tom said, smiling at the sight of his daughter, every muscle totally lax in Tuvok's arms as she slept soundly at long last.

"I would also be willing to provide both of you with instructions in techniques to control your emotions if you wish, to help you maintain an inner calm while you care for your child." Tuvok chanted, following it with a song in Vulcan that sounded like a lullaby.

B'Elanna crossed her arms in front of her, her body rigidly erect in a pose that was anything but relaxed. Tom leaned her back against his chest, embracing her so that he could hold her back if she became angry again. Gradually, the tension ebbed from her. Tuvok's gentle singing of a repetitive Vulcan melody to the sleeping baby seemed to be having the same effect on B'Elanna as it had on Linnis.

"Not that I want to interfere with these very stimulating lessons in Vulcan child-rearing, but if Linnis is no longer in need of my services, perhaps she would be more comfortable in her own crib?" The EMH tapped his fingers against his crossed elbows as he quietly, but emphatically, made his point.

Tom was amused. The Doc had been ignored in his own domain for far too long. Clearly, he was no longer willing to tolerate their continued presence in Sickbay. "You're absolutely right, Doc. B'Elanna, let's bring Linnis back home so we can all get some sleep."

"Remember, it's always wise to sleep when the baby sleeps!" the Doctor admonished with a grin, happy to squeeze in one last bit of indubitably sound advice.

B'Elanna rolled her eyes at the EMH's comment. Looking over at Tuvok, however, she hesitated. He was still singing softly to the baby. She looked so at peace that Tom was as reluctant as his wife to disturb her. "Tuvok? Could you do us a favor and walk Linnis to our quarters? I'd hate to rock the boat right now."

Without missing a beat of his song, Tuvok replied, in Federation Standard words matching his melody, "Of course I will do as you ask, Lieutenants Torres and Paris . . ."

=/\=

Throughout the short journey on the turbolift and through the quiet, darkened corridors of the ship, Tom worried that little Linnis would awaken and start to cry again, disrupting the sleep of their crew mates. He need not have been concerned. Tuvok's steady pace and soft singing, nonsense syllables to Tom, since he didn't know any Vulcan, were apparently all that was necessary to keep the exhausted baby sleeping soundly.

When they reached their quarters on Deck 9, B'Elanna held out her arms for her baby. This time, there was no hesitation by Tuvok as he transferred Linnis into her mother's embrace. All of them, even Tuvok, held their breath, but the baby did not stir.

B'Elanna strolled slowly to the small room adjoining the living area to place Linnis in her crib. Normally, Tom would have gone with them, but tonight he hung back. From where he stood by the entrance of the family's quarters, Tuvok was in his line of sight as well. He could see the Vulcan's eyes following B'Elanna's progress with a strange look upon his face. Tom was used to seeing Tuvok's face bearing a serene expression, if one could say he had any expression at all. This time, Tom would say Tuvok was watching mother and child with a look of longing.

Tom was about to dismiss his perception as a ridiculous fancy until he remembered how peeved Tuvok could get at Neelix, especially when the Talaxian's eagerness to be the best morale officer on any Federation vessel in the galaxy became too obtrusive for the Vulcan to ignore. He remembered how distinctly annoyed Tuvok had been with Tom's suggestions on how to finish the Insurrection Alpha program, and how solemn and deep his silence had been after his protégée Kes had left Voyager. Tom recalled the quiet pride he had detected in the Vulcan's manner after Captain Janeway had bestowed upon him his promotion to lieutenant commander. Especially, he realized how gently protective Tuvok had been towards the Drayan "children" who were so frightened by the "final rituals" they had come to a distant moon to observe. He had eased Tressa's fears by staying with her when the truth was discovered: that the "children" were dying of old age.

And then one more memory pushed forward into Tom's mind. At the time, he had been so overwhelmed with churning, conflicting emotions from his own letter from home--or at least the tiny fragment that B'Elanna had been able to salvage out of the data stream--to think much about anyone else's. Tuvok had received a letter from his wife T'Pel, a letter filled with wonderful news for her husband about his family--in particular, news of the child who had been born to Tuvok's eldest son Sek since his absence. Barring a miracle, Little T'Meni would be long out of infancy before Tuvok would ever lay eyes on her--should he ever be lucky enough to see her at all, considering the distances they still must traverse and Tuvok's relatively advanced age.

Tuvok had saved Tom's sanity as well as his life when he had been unjustly accused of murder by the Baneans. They had struggled together to survive the holodeck program that Seska had tampered with before she had defected to the Kazon. Tuvok had saved B'Elanna when the Mari were going to excise her "violent" engrams from her brain, threatening to damage her mind and possibly the fetal Linnis' life. When B'Elanna and Tom had had that serious misunderstanding, Tuvok had helped Tom by providing lessons in Vulcan calming techniques to Tom himself.

In the time it took for B'Elanna to disappear from view as she put her daughter to bed, Tom gained tremendous insight into how much he owed Tuvok for his present happiness. He realized something else, too. When Tuvok spoke of the need for disciplining oneself every day to maintain inner calm and emotional control, he was speaking of his own need for stability and order. From Vorik's emotional response to B'Elanna during his pon farr, Tom knew exactly how violent Vulcan emotions could be. There was much more to Tuvok's nightly meditations than Vulcan philosophy, Tom suddenly understood. Vulcan discipline allowed Tuvok to live amongst openly emotional humans without being embarrassed by losing control of his own, except for the occasional slip--usually when Neelix was buzzing around him.

Although Tom owed Tuvok much, there might be something Tom and B'Elanna could do for him that, in an ironic way, would help out Tom and B'Elanna, too--and especially, help their daughter.

"Tuvok, I'm so grateful to you for helping Linnis calm down," Tom began. ''I don't know how we can ever repay you . . ."

"No repayment is needed, Mr. Paris. I am pleased to be of service to your family."

Tom grinned sheepishly. "Well, that's good, Tuvok, because I think I need to ask you another favor. I'm going to have to show up for duty tomorrow night, and if Linnis has colic again, it's going to be really tough on B'Elanna. She's due on duty the next two days at 0700, and I don't think she'll be getting much rest tonight . . ."

"I will be off duty all day and night tomorrow, Mr. Paris. I could come to your quarters in the evening to stay with Linnis. Perhaps the two of you could have a quiet meal together in the mess hall."

"That would be just great."

Tuvok raised a quizzical eyebrow, just as Tom had hoped. He'd been very careful to include just the slightest bit of resignation in his voice, confident that Tuvok would pick it up.

"Mr. Paris, I have another proposal. Perhaps it would be more . . . restful . . . for you and Lieutenant Torres to take your evening meal in your quarters while I care for Linnis in mine."

"That's even better, Tuvok. At least you'd be home; you'd be able to meditate once you got her to sleep. I'd hate to put you out even more than you already will be, just by taking care of her."

"I will not be 'put out' by taking care of Linnis," Tuvok said, his eyebrow again in the air. "It is the responsibility of the elder generations to care for the youngest." Tuvok paused, his features flickering for a slight instant into an expression that Tom could read easily, now that he knew to look for it. "In fact, I look upon it as a privilege. Were I home on Vulcan, I would be serving in the same capacity to my son Sek's daughter T'Meni."

"Thank you, Tuvok," Tom said sincerely, glad that his train of reasoning was as in tune with Tuvok's in this instance.

"Thanks from me, too, Tuvok," B'Elanna said as she approached the door where Tom and Tuvok were still standing. "I wish you could be here every night to put her to sleep!"

"I believe that Mr. Paris and I were thinking along similar lines, Lieutenant. I am sure he will explain it to you. I will now take my leave. Until tomorrow night."

"Actually, it'll be later tonight, Tuvok," Tom remarked, not wanting to risk any misunderstandings. "It's almost 0200 already."

"Yes. You are correct. I will see you later this evening." Tuvok's slight bow of the head was matched by Tom's.

"What was that all about?" B'Elanna asked after Tuvok had left. 

"Let's just say that with 'Gramps' taking care of Linnis, I have a hunch everything around here will go a lot more smoothly. For all of us."

=/\=

". . . and the diapers are in this bag . . . and here's a bottle of milk from B'Elanna. You won't have to replicate any . . ."

"Mr. Paris, you are going to be spending the next few hours in your quarters before going on duty. I know where to find you. There is no need to become obsessive over every little detail of the contents of the diaper bag."

B'Elanna laughed as she patted her baby's back. Linnis was already being held by Tuvok. "I think that's exactly what Tom's afraid of! Seriously, if you need anything, just call us and we'll be here."

"I am certain all will be well. She is becoming calmer as we speak."

"I can see that too, Tuvok," Tom said. The baby's crankiness-- nowhere near as bad as the previous night but still somewhat upsetting--had dissipated almost as soon as Tuvok had taken hold of her. The baby was wriggling a little, but in the way that usually meant she was getting comfortable enough to sleep. Tom bent down and kissed the top of Linnis' head. B'Elanna followed suit, and then, at Tuvok's urging, they departed for their own evening of peace.

Once he was alone with Linnis, Tuvok slowly paced around his quarters. When he reached the holographic projector holding pictures of his family, he stopped, settling Linnis into the crook of his left elbow. This enabled him to touch the controls and introduce his family while still rocking her from side to side. "This is Sek. He is my firstborn child, as you are your parents'. I do not have an image of his wife and his daughter T'Meni, but I am certain they will be pleased to meet you when Voyager returns to the Alpha Quadrant. This image is of my only daughter Asil, the last born of my children. This is my second son Varith with his younger brother Elieth. They will wish to meet you someday, too.

"And this image is of T'Pel, the mother of my children and my bonded wife. Although she is far from me, we are never truly parted. You cannot understand such a concept as of yet, but if you were old enough to understand such a thing, I could not speak of it to you. Illogical, you may think, but true, nonetheless. Such is the way of my race. The bonds uniting us into families are strong, but we do not share the details with outsiders. In your case, I will make an exception. I trust that you will disclose this confidence with no one."

Tuvok turned Linnis towards him so that he could look into her face. She waved her arms at him but did not cry. Her open eyes returned his gaze, her face bearing an expression as grave as the one on his. Solemnly bowing his head to her, Tuvok added, "I knew I could count upon your discretion."

Leaving the holographic projector set on the image of T'Pel, Tuvok moved towards his viewport and inquired, "My race prefers to communicate what others do through words in a song. Would you care to hear some music I recorded for you last night, after I returned to my quarters?" The baby met his gaze, blowing bubbles from her perfectly formed bow lips. "I take your silence as assent. You are a most perceptive and diligent student. Computer, play music program Tuvok Theta Rho Two."

As the music began to swell, Tuvok explained, "The instrument playing is a Vulcan lute. The selections were favorites of my own children. Some are lullabies and others are teaching songs for the very young. I trust you will find them instructive and entertaining, as well as soothing."

The melody that Tuvok had sung to Linnis on the previous night began to play. Tuvok placed Linnis back up to his shoulder. He sang the words softly:

 

ka-ta'-lu sa-va-tri,  
ma-va-la, tov ka-sa-tri  
voor-me, la la-le mi-ka-'av-to  
ka-'av-tov a-mal iv-a-mantro . . .

Calm yourself as I rock you  
in my arms. To sleep now  
my small one, allow me to guide you  
I guide you to your rest . . .

The circuit of his quarters, by this time, had brought Tuvok in front of the large viewport of his cabin. Silhouetted against the stars glimmering through the window with the glow from the flame of his meditation lamp lighting his face, Tuvok rocked slowly from side to side in perfect synchronization to the melody, cradling the tiny form of Linnis upon his chest. Gradually, the weight of the baby in his arms grew heavier as the music and the calming thoughts he was projecting worked their magic upon her.

Long after the peacefully sleeping infant had melted into the very image of innocence, the century-old Vulcan stood facing in the direction of his far-distant home, his mellow baritone floating its gentle song through the air.

If his thoughts were as much upon the child whom he had never met as they were upon the one sleeping in his arms, none would blame him, Linnis' parents least of all.

 

=/\=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gramps": No particular episode prompted this story, just Tim Russ' wonderful interpretation of Tuvok, although the story does contain references to the episode "Innocence," teleplay by Lisa Klink from a story by Anthony Williams, as well to the previously cited Jeri Taylor episode "Hunters." While several books have been written about conversational Klingon, I never found enough reference material on the Vulcan language to do anything more than make up fake syllables to the Vulcan lullaby, with its attendant rather feeble "translation." I'm not much of a poet, and don't I just know it . . .
> 
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


	6. Ulterior Motives

**Ulterior Motives**

 

B'Elanna Torres had no need to see her husband poke his head into Engineering before shouting over to him, "Sorry, I got tied up." The fussy baby in his arms had heralded the pair's arrival as soon as the turbolift doors opened. 

"I figured." Tom bounced his daughter in a futile attempt to quiet her while her mother turned away from the console she was examining. 

"Sue, can you complete the impulse drive diagnostic I started? The results should come up in about 5 minutes."

Lt. Nicoletti nodded as she moved to another console and punched in codes to give her access to the data when it was ready. Reassured that one essential task was now covered, B'Elanna turned to the chair positioned in a corner that was partially blocked from view by a support beam. Tom shielded her with his body as B'Elanna loosened her jacket and pulled up her tank top and bra, exposing her breast for the briefest of seconds. Her very determined, hungry baby lunged out of her father's arms into her mother's, latched onto her mother's breast, and gave a shuddering sigh as she began to suck enthusiastically. 

"I think Linnis has a Klingon sense of smell. She certainly knows when you whip out that nipple for her, Lieutenant," Tom teased.

B'Elanna glared at him for only a second before settling back into the chair with a contented sigh. Nature definitely knew how to perpetuate mammalian species. Nursing her baby was almost as relaxing as a hard physical workout at the end of the work day. The problem was, her work day wasn't really done yet.

The sight of the Chief Engineer nursing her baby had become so routine over the past few months that her staff continued to work on their tasks with barely a glance at the family in the corner. Nicoletti reported that the impulse engine diagnostic showed no issues when the final data was displayed. Lt. Vorik asked if he could start immediately on the gel pack maintenance she had scheduled for tomorrow, since he expected to have some time on Beta shift. Except for the fact that Vorik focused his eyes around her forehead while asking his question, B'Elanna could have been doing anything she normally did while on duty, for all the attention that was paid to the youngest member of Voyager's crew.

"How much longer do you think you'll be before you can get home for dinner?" Tom finally asked, as his daughter continued rhythmically sucking her own dinner.

"Shouldn't be long now. I just wanted to run one more diagnostic on that console over there. When I started the impulse drive diagnostic, there seemed to be an abnormal delay before the program began to run."

"Why don't you let me run it for you now, so you can get off a bit earlier?"

B'Elanna shrugged. "If you want to do it, it's fine by me."

Tom picked up the tricorder next to B'Elanna's chair and hummed a bit to himself as he pointed it at the console. "There seem to be a fluctuation in the connection between the consoles in this area, Chief."

"Just what I suspected. That would explain the lag. The connections must be weak here."

Tom moved to the next console down the line, then moved over to check then next console the other side of the one already identified as problematical. "There's a very slight hesitation on this side, too, but it's not in the critical range. The main problem seems to with the first one I checked. Do you want me to work on it for you now?"

"No, that's okay. Vorik, why don't you leave the gel pack maintenance for tomorrow, the way we had originally planned? This console is more of a priority. Once you've got this one fixed, check out the console on the left, too. I think that one is only showing that hesitation because of this one, but it's best to be certain."

The young Vulcan engineer nodded his head. "I will take care of both of them, Lieutenant."

While B'Elanna was instructing Vorik, Tom could not stop smiling. Linnis had finally finished her evening meal. Drooped in her mother's arms, half asleep, she still held her mother's nipple firmly between her bow lips. Tom could not imagine a more perfect picture: B'Elanna, in Engineering and in her element, cradling and nurturing her child. Tom hoped he would always remember that moment, but the only thing he said was, "Since you're almost finished here, why don't I put our daughter to bed before preparing a nice dinner at home for the two of us?"

Since it was supposed to be B'Elanna's turn to "cook," she gratefully accepted his offer, gracing him with a dazzling, if brief, smile while her husband gathered their sleeping daughter into his waiting arms. 

=/\=

Forty-five minutes later, B'Elanna strolled into the Paris-Torres family quarters. Before doing anything else, she peeked into the second bedroom to check on her daughter. Now that the nightly bouts of colic had dissipated, thanks to Tuvok's help, Linnis was sleeping peacefully. B'Elanna breathed a sigh of relief. B'Elanna wasn't surprised Tom had to bring Linnis to her when she was late getting home. Linnis tended to wake up to demand a meal right around the time of shift changes, apparently aware of the change in activity at those times of the day. While the EMH was very pleased to see the baby had such a good appetite; the down side was that Linnis could become extremely fussy when her mother wasn't home right on time to feed her. Unfortunately, B'Elanna's responsibilities did not always permit her to follow the regular schedule that Linnis deserved. Fortunately, Tom was more than up to the task of caring for his daughter, even if it simply meant he had to bring Linnis to her mother for a feeding, as he had done this evening. 

B'Elanna found Tom lying down on their bed, dressed in casual, off-duty clothing, with his left arm covering his eyes, "catching a few Z's," as he always liked to say. As she entered the room, however, he quickly rose up. "Why don't you get comfortable, Be'? I'll finish setting up for dinner."

"Sounds good to me, Flyboy," she said with a quick kiss.

When B'Elanna, dressed in a robe and nightgown, entered their main room, she saw a replicated red rose in a vase on the table. A quick peek at the replicator informed her that dinner was to be one of Tom's favorite salads and Coq au Vin, programmed in and awaiting only a final command before being "whipped up" into dinner. A bottle of wine to accompany their repast already rested in the chiller. 

B'Elanna raised her eyebrow. "Champagne? What's the occasion?"

Tom smiled seductively. "Goes with everything."

"Everything? Hmm. What exactly did you have in mind? Other than the salad and the chicken?"

Tom glided toward her. "Please! Coq au Vin is so much more than just 'chicken!'" He wrapped his arms around his wife and nuzzled her ear, adding, "I thought we might want to supplement the main courses with a little extra. . . as the spirit moves us."

"Why, Lieutenant Paris. You wouldn't have any . . . ulterior motives now, would you?"

"Who, me?" Tom said, popping the champagne cork and grabbing one of the glasses on the table. "I just thought that our chief engineer deserved a nice, relaxing dinner after all of her labors today. Must have given her quite an appetite."

"Could be. Aren't you asking for trouble? A nice dinner, with a baby always willing to barge in on a good time? Especially at dinner time?"

"Oh, I think Linnis is going to be out for a while now. She seemed really tired-- didn't even stir when I put her down to bed. So, I think we can count on an hour or so, so we can eat."

"Okay. Shall we get the salad for the first course?"

"Well, sure. If that's the first course you really want." His voice teased her with a promise of an alternate first course. No surprise there.

"What did you have in mind if we don't have the salad first?" she responded, innocently.

"I've got a couple of appetizers we can choose from, if you like. And they go great with champagne."

"Uh huh. And then, when we actually are going to eat . . . food . . . I'm going to have to eat with a baby pulling on my breast, aren't I? That isn't much fun, Tom."

"I know, but considering the kind of appetizers I've got on the menu. . . at least you can eat the Coq au Vin and salad while you've got Linnis at your breast. You'd have one hand free to eat. With these appetizers, now, I'd prefer to keep it to a twosome. We'd have to keep it to a twosome, in fact."

"I see your point." 

B'Elanna was more than willing to get into the spirit of "appetizers" with Tom. It didn't take long for her glass of champagne to be placed on the floor while her husband served up the first very first appetizer. Tom helpfully licked up a little spilled champagne from B'Elanna's torso before the pair began to roll around on the floor, enjoying a bit of Klingon/human foreplay. A certain masculine cheek received a big chomping bite on it, courtesy of Voyager's Chief Engineer, before the atmosphere started to get hot and heavy.

Tom had just entered B'Elanna when they heard the sound they dreaded even more than their daughter's cries:

::::Red Alert. All senior officers to the bridge. Red Alert.:::

"Oh, damn!" yelled Tom. A second later, he yelled out something else. It may have been his wife's name, but in the context, she wasn't particularly thrilled.

"Well, that's nice for you," a grumpy, on-the-edge B'Elanna groused.

"Sorry. I couldn't exactly go to the bridge that way," Tom apologized as they rushed to get back into uniform. 

In seconds, they'd pulled themselves together enough to go to their duty stations, although Tom's unhealed bite mark still glowed upon his cheek. Scooping up Linnis from her crib so she could drop her off at Sickbay with the Nanny and Naomi on the way to Engineering, B'Elanna hustled out the door one step after Tom.

=/\=

The crisis was serious, as so many were to the crew of Voyager, alone in the Delta Quadrant and without any back-up. An aggressive race had fired on them. After a couple of tense hours, Captain Janeway was able to control the situation well enough that Voyager managed to escape without the crew suffering any casualties or injuries. B'Elanna had to deal with repairs, however, so Tom, once released from the bridge, picked up Linnis from her refuge with Nanny next to Sickbay. 

Tom was just about to replicate a bottle of milk for a very fussy Linnis when B'Elanna finally appeared.

"B'Elanna! I'm so glad to see you!"

"I'm glad to see both of you," she replied, throwing her arms around both of them.

"Do you want to eat while you're nursing her?"

"No," she sighed. "I can wait. Linnis cannot."

Tom sighed sadly. "So much for my nice dinner. Maybe later. Right now I'd just like to crawl into bed with you and sleep for several hours straight, if Linnis will let us."

B'Elanna didn't even bother to reply as she opened her uniform top and crawled into bed. Tom handed the baby to her, and within a few seconds, he was stretched out beside them.

A very short while later, a visitor to the Paris-Torres quarters would see a half empty champagne glass on the table. An almost full glass sat on the floor near the couch, where other activities had been taking place earlier in the evening. The replicator light blinked patiently, indicating that a meal program was ready to be enabled. In the bedroom, three beings could be seen lying on the bed. The two larger life forms were fully dressed in uniforms, although the uniform of the life form with darker hair and a ridged forehead was in disarray. The smallest of the life forms slept soundly between them, her mouth loosened by sleep from the bared breast of her mother.

While their plans for the evening had been disrupted, there were two things for which the little family would have expressed gratitude (or at least, those capable of speech would have expressed such feelings), had they been awake.

They were alive. And they were together.

=/\=

Early the next morning, B'Elanna fed her baby while Tom looked on from their bed, a thoughtful look upon his face. Both parents originally had been scheduled for duty that morning, but their schedules had been altered by the previous night's events. Tom's shift in Sickbay now was to start at 1200 hours. B'Elanna wasn't due in Engineering until an hour later, and then only to make sure her staff had completed the long list of repairs she had outlined the previous night, after the crisis had been resolved. 

"A penny for your thoughts, Flyboy," B'Elanna whispered, returning to bed after tucking her now-sleeping daughter back into her own crib.

Tom's smile was sincere but brief. "Just thinking about last night. A couple of times there, I thought I might never see either of you again."

B'Elanna snuggled her body against her husband's and sighed. "You weren't the only one, Tom. It was touch and go there for a while."

Tom shifted his weight onto his hip to face his wife. "Be', it's time we faced up to facts. We've been avoiding certain decisions about Linnis, but we really can't wait any longer. We need to make sure Linnis' future is secured. I know our choices are limited, but it's time to choose someone to. . . someone to care for her. . . if neither one of us is here to take care of her ourselves."

"I know, Tom, I know. I can't bear to think about it, but you're right. We have to do it."

Tom hugged his wife closely as they finally came to the decision that, in retrospect, seemed obvious. Now they had to ask the persons they had chosen if they would be willing and able to take on such a responsibility.

=/\=

That evening, Kathryn Janeway greeted her chief engineer, her helmsmen, and the youngest of her crew's complement in her ready room. Once they'd arrived, she summoned Chakotay from the bridge, as the couple had requested. From the solemn expressions on both Tom's and B'Elanna's faces as they took their seats on her couch, the captain knew that the subject to be discussed was a serious one.

"Captain, Commander Chakotay, thanks for agreeing to meet with us," Tom began hesitantly, glancing at his wife as if he needed some of her strength to continue.

"Of course, Tom. Anytime," the captain replied.

Sighing, Tom continued. "I hope you can help us. We've realized for a long time, even before Linnis was born, that something could happen to both of us. We've been avoiding it, but we know we can't wait any more. We need to make plans for someone who will take over for us and care for Linnis if we. . . if we both are killed."

Kathryn closed her eyes and breathed in sharply. She had expected them to come to her about this at some point. Really, she had expected they would have come to her before this. Since there were only two young children on board the ship so far, she had always felt they would manage somehow if the worst should happen. So far, it hadn't, but last night's events had reminded all of them that it might be only a matter of time before it did.

As if Tom had read her thoughts, he went on, "Captain, Neelix is Naomi's godfather, and he will take care of her if anything happens to Samantha Wildman, but we haven't really established anyone so far. Who can we choose? Harry? It doesn't seem fair to him. He's a young guy and he hasn't found anyone to be with up to now, after losing Kes. It doesn't seem fair to ask him to raise our child, knowing he expected to be raising his own with her by now. We had to ask ourselves who on this ship could we ask to fill such a heavy responsibility. Who else are we close enough to?

"We'd prefer to ask a relative, but obviously we don't have any of those handy. Neelix has been Naomi's unofficial uncle. We'd like to do something similar for Linnis. To have an unofficial extended family that she spends a lot of time around, to cushion the blow if the worst happens to both of us, even though there wouldn't be any blood ties. Sort of an adoptive family."

B'Elanna nodded her head, adding, "Harry is already Uncle Harry, in a way, and Tuvok is 'Gramps,' but to ask him to actually raise a part human, part Klingon child, at his age, might be an imposition. We think he's better at being, well, Gramps."

Kathryn smiled. "I agree. He may have the experience and the patience, of course, but he isn't a young man anymore."

Tom hesitated, looking down at his folded hands before meeting the captain's eyes. "Captain, you know my father. He was your mentor at one time. You're the closest thing to family I have on board this ship, other than B'Elanna and Linnis."

"I suppose that is so," she replied.

B'Elanna turned to the First Officer. "Chakotay, you've been my mentor for a long time, in the Maquis, and here. You 'gave me away' when Tom and I married. So, I'd like you to be 'Uncle Chakotay' to Linnis. She'll need someone who can provide spiritual guidance in the future. . . especially if she's anything like me!"

Smiling, Chakotay replied, "I just hope she won't try to kill her spirit guide, too."

They all laughed, then Tom, in all seriousness, asked the captain, "So, can you be 'Auntie Kathryn' along with being 'the captain' to Linnis? I realize it may be difficult, with all of your responsibilities, but I really can't think of anyone I'd rather take care of her, if B'Elanna and I can't be here to do it."

Kathryn pursed her lips. Her mind flew back to an incident earlier in their journey. This wasn't the first time the issue of children had come up between the captain and Tom Paris, although to bring up that incident openly now seemed crass. She hadn't been capable of any decisions at the time, or communicating them even if she did, yet she'd always felt some guilt about what had happened. When Tom and Kathryn both were transformed into more primitive life forms as a result of traveling at Warp 10, they'd lost all higher thinking processes and mated. Thus, they already had 'children' together. The captain sometimes thought of those amphibious offspring with regret. Leaving them to fend for themselves on that planet hadn't been her decision; others had made it for her. Yet somehow, their existence made this decision easier, even though, as captain of Voyager, it was crazy to think about having children under any circumstances. Since she could not serve as parents to those offspring she had borne to Tom, at least she could help him with the daughter he had fathered with B'Elanna. 

Kathryn hoped this promise would never need to be fulfilled, but making it just might ease her longing for what she could never have otherwise. After only a short hesitation, she replied, "I don't think it would be right for me to refuse." 

Chakotay nodded his head. "I feel the same way. I'm honored by your trust in me."

"Thank you, Captain, Commander," Tom said, in obvious relief. B'Elanna echoed his sentiments, hugging her daughter close, as if this act would banish the need to ever think about the subject of losing each other again.

"It might be a good idea to write up a formal document for us all to sign. I'd like to think that by doing something formal, it will never need to be invoked," Kathryn said.

"Thanks, Captain. That's a good idea," Tom said. "I can draft something for us to sign tomorrow, if you're okay with that."

There wasn't much more to be said. Tom and B'Elanna thanked their superiors again, and "Aunt Kathryn" gave little Linnis a hug, before the family left the Ready Room. 

After they left, Chakotay took a seat again on the couch, lingering, as if he had something to say. Kathryn sat down next to him, murmuring, "Doubts about what you just promised, Chakotay? Already?"

His dimples appeared briefly, then slipped away again. "No. None at all about this. They have to do something. I was just thinking about another decision we made, a few years ago."

"New Earth?"

"Yes. When we were rescued, we made a very different choice about proceeding with the relationship we'd had down there than B'Elanna and Tom have on board Voyager. This could have been us, you know, having to decide something like this."

"I know."

He looked into her eyes intently. "Do you have any regrets?"

She sighed. "Maybe. I just don't see how we could have done things any differently. This crew needs us to be captain and first officer, not mother and father."

"Then, maybe. The longer we're out here, the more I'm starting to feel like Dad anyway. This seems to be one more push towards that."

"As long as we are on Voyager, and en route home, it can't change, Chakotay."

"Do you wish it could?"

She gazed into his eyes and saw they were as wounded as her own must be. How could she say it? 'Of course! Every second that we are together, I'm reminded of what I can't have. And now I know that Mark is gone, the only barrier is our duty. But duty is enough.' If she did say that, she knew she could lean into his arms, arms which she knew he would stretch around her in comfort. She remembered well what it felt like, after their equipment was destroyed: when it was only Kathryn and Chakotay, castaways for a lifetime, or so they had thought. Instead, she answered, "It's been difficult, Chakotay, that's all I can say. For both of us, I think."

"Yes, for both of us," he agreed. 

After a very long, serious moment, Janeway added, to lighten the mood, "Of course, I realize that was one of your motives for talking about finding a 'nice planet to settle on' when we were confronted by the Borg, Chakotay. We settle down, and our New Earth agreement would be off, too, wouldn't it?"

"Are you saying I had an ulterior motive for fighting with you that day, Kathryn?" He was grinning now.

"As if you need an ulterior motive to behave like the excellent first officer you are! Even though I wasn't too willing to recognize it at the time."

"Serving with a strong-willed captain is always a challenge, ma'am."

"Watch it, mister. I don't recall it being crunch time at the moment." They laughed together as they stood up, with the captain's hand brushing gently against his forearm in a gesture that, as soon as she did it, she realized could be either misconstrued or cruel, given the context of their discussion. Patting his arm more firmly, she asked him, point blank, "Does this bother you, Chakotay? I'm so used to touching you, but I do wonder, is it fair to you, after all that's happened?"

"No, Kathryn. It doesn't bother me at all. If I can't have you touch me another way, a pat on the arm suits me fine."

She looked up into those deep brown eyes. They glistened with emotion, threatening to spill out more words that might be hard for her to counter, but they did not come. Despite their lack of any other source of command support on Voyager other than one another, and even though he'd resigned his original commission years ago, Chakotay's adherence to Starfleet protocols was as complete as her own. She suspected that no matter how long it took them to get home, it would remain that way, unless that planet of refuge someday became necessary. Unless . . . a stray suspicion suddenly struck her. "Chakotay. You don't think Tom and B'Elanna might entertain any, shall we say, 'ulterior motives' in asking us to care for their Linnis, do you? They aren't trying to get us together?"

His grin slipped out, unguarded, genuine. "I don't think B'Elanna is much of a matchmaker, but I wouldn't put it past Tom." His smile faded as suddenly as it had come. "But I hope it doesn't happen, no matter what motive they might have. I don't want to lose B'Elanna . . . or Tom, for that matter. We need them both, and their expertise, too much to lose either of them."

"I hope so, too," she answered softly, although she couldn't help feeling that it would be just like Tom to plan something like this, perhaps even to anticipate that caring for their daughter could ease her grief if both Tom and B'Elanna were gone forever. 

The moment could not last long. There were duties to perform that a responsible officer could not shirk. "I'd better get back to the bridge now, Captain."

"Of course, Commander. Dismissed." She felt a little sad and could not stop herself from a small comfort, indulging herself with a quick pat of his right shoulder as he turned away.

After Chakotay had withdrawn to the bridge, in the solitude of her Ready Room, Kathryn Janeway replicated herself a cup of coffee and sat down on the couch, alone with her thoughts. As she sipped her beverage, her eyes may have been on the stars streaming by her viewport, but her mind drifted away to another place, another time. Instead of the stars shining through the viewport, another night sky came to mind. Visions of chittering monkeys clinging to the branches of alien trees floated by; and she remembered a bathtub hidden in a forest glade, a gift from a very kind man, and oh, so welcome at the time. The coffee was hot against her lips, but she hardly noticed. Her senses were reminded of the way a certain man's hands warmed her when giving her a massage. 

Janeway sighed as she rested the empty mug upon her desk. Such a long time had passed since then. Such a very long time, and so far yet for them all to go.

 

=/\=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ulterior Motives": The Warp 10 experiment was chronicled in "Threshold," teleplay by Brannon Braga from a story by Michael De Luca. In this story, as well as in the one following, references are made to the Star Trek: Voyager episode "Resolutions," written by Jeri Taylor.
> 
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


	7. The Devil's Own

The Devil's Own

 

Philosophers on many worlds in many quadrants of countless galaxies have considered the question without a satisfactory answer: if no one is present to perceive a sound, is there sound at all?

For millennia this world had slumbered, with no one to ask the question, let alone answer it. Vibrations that might be sounds if there were ears to hear rumbled through the cracked crust of this world because of hot magma, bubbling its way up from the deep core of the sphere. Hot gases and a veritable soup of complex compounds, trembling upon the edge of spontaneous life, swirled within its atmosphere and pooled upon its surface. Caverns and valleys alike glimmered with phosphorescence. All was in readiness. Buried within the depths of this world, a proto-sentience awaited the coming of that which would awaken its potential, fulfill its promise. And it waited, and waited, and waited, not even knowing how long it waited, or even that it waited.

Then, on the wings of an ethereal consciousness flying bodiless and timeless before the barely perceptible winds of possibility, what was awaited arrived.

That which might have slept forever slowly awoke, greeting the coming transformation in dazed wonderment. Whether or not they ever had been on Demon before, from now on, sounds would be.

=^=

::::Personal Log, B'Elanna Torres, Stardate 51874.9

"If you had someone down there you loved, you'd want to make sure they got back, too."

I'd said those words to Chakotay in the corridor, when he refused to let me join the away team to rescue Tom and Harry. 

I think I surprised him by taking it so well when he said, "No." Later, he just as much as said it was because of Linnis. He didn't want to lose us both down there, leaving Linnis an orphan, when he really didn't need me to go. I think I knew that was his reasoning even when I confronted him in the corridor, when I asked him to let me go. I can't say I blame him. There I was in my "Engineering smock," which everyone on the whole ship knows is one way I cover up my big behind. Tom says it isn't *that* big, but it's bigger than it was before Linnis. I've got some work to do getting back into shape, so I'm still wearing that dumb smock I wore to try to hide my big baby belly.

I don't think I would've let me go down, either.

But I know what really shocked him. I asked him to take Seven along to rescue Tom. I may not get along well with her, but I knew that if anyone could help find Tom and Harry, she could. Since Seven helped find them, I guess I owe her one. 

I'm sure I'll have plenty of chances to return the favor, now. 

When the word came they'd been found, I snuck out of Engineering to go to the transporter room to meet them. Before I got there, I got word they'd been transported to Sickbay. Until the day I die, I'll remember that sick feeling I experienced while I pounded down that corridor towards Sickbay. I wanted the father of our child back, but not this way.

When I got to Sickbay, I wanted to tear something apart in my frustration. He was sitting there on the biobed, his head down as if in defeat, so unlike himself. None of that cocky attitude of his. I wanted to run over and gather him up in my arms and kiss him within an inch of his life, then step back and yell at him for worrying me that way.

I couldn't. When he saw me, his eyes filled with pain; and all I could say was, "We'll lick this."

The sparkling of the Doctor as he stepped through the force field was a shock. It reminded me of the time Tom went to Warp 10 and came back allergic to water. Tom couldn't breathe a nitrogen/ oxygen atmosphere any more. He needed to suck in "air" that was poison to the rest of us. 

Maybe I should have figured out what was going on from that. That was our main clue, but I didn't figure it out, not then. I couldn't imagine that the man who talked like Tom and looked like Tom and had all the memories of Tom might not actually BE Tom! My Tom, at any rate.

I felt my throat constrict as the Doctor explained it all to me. If I tried to touch his face with my bare hand, I'd damage my skin. He couldn't reach out to touch me, either. Whatever had happened to him down there had changed his body chemistry completely. It was unbelievable.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant. We'll get him back." The Doctor's assurances sounded as hollow to me as mine probably were to Tom, but what could I do? He *had* gotten Tom back after the Warp 10 experiment. Maybe I needed to have a little faith, even though patience has never been my strong suit.

Maybe we couldn't touch, but we could talk to each other. That wouldn't damage us. So, I sat down on the biobed across from him, and we chatted. I reassured him that Linnis was okay, staying with Nanny Belle and Naomi. Naomi loved playing "mother" to Linnis. All Nanny had to do was make sure she didn't get too enthusiastic. Tom's tension eased a bit while we were talking about our daughter, but we didn't get all that much time to talk before the captain called me to the lab.

Tom had such hope in his eyes when I left. He wanted to believe we'd find the answer. I was eager, too. I'd rather be working on the problem instead of sitting around talking, even if it was to my husband. I'd rather get him back so I could hug him.

It didn't take much to find the solution, really. A little accident, that was all. I spilled some of the planetary goo on my finger--and there it was. Another B'Elanna finger, popping up out of the liquid. I looked at the captain. She looked at me. When Chakotay signaled us a few seconds later with the news they'd found *another* Tom and Harry, he only confirmed what we already suspected.

I was seething when I ran into Sickbay to be with my husband--my *real* husband--and helped Sam Wildman and the Doctor pull him out of his EVA suit. That impostor was lucky I was too busy with Tom to tear him limb from limb. I didn't care what would have happened to my skin!

Later, though, when the captain spoke with the Tom clone, I couldn't help listening. He swore he had no idea he wasn't the "real" Tom Paris until the real one was found. I glanced at him, at his blue eyes searching in my direction, begging me to believe him. It was eerie. He *was* "my Tom." Even though he wasn't.

"My Tom" was still unconscious, but he'd been out of danger for a couple of hours when the clone Tom called me over and dared to ask me to agree to be cloned. I didn't know what to do at first. "Why should I do this? This planet almost cost me my husband's life! Why should I do you this . . . this favor?"

"Because I love you, B'Elanna. And I'd rather you just kill me right here than live without you and Linnis. Shut down the force field and let me drown in the poison air on this ship. Just get it over with." 

He answered me so quietly, but with such intensity, that I was speechless. How could I say, "no?"

I didn't say "yes" right away, either. There were questions to be answered. It was one thing to be cloned, but could we survive down there? Could we provide ourselves with the necessities of life? Would we have anything to eat? Did we even need to eat? Would Linnis and Naomi be able to grow up there? Why bother cloning more of us if we would all die in a matter of days or weeks of starvation or exposure?

Tom and the Doctor agreed that my concerns were justified. The Tom clone volunteered to be transported back to the planet's surface to get some answers. Just before he left, he smiled at me. I felt that smile go straight to where it always goes, making me want him as much as ever. He said, "It's going to be all right. I know it now, B'Elanna. And if it is, will you . . .?"

"We'll both be there. Don't worry. And . . . " I took a deep breath. I wanted to grab his hands, but I couldn't, not without burning mine. ". . . and if it isn't okay, I'll still be there. I just won't bring Linnis. I couldn't watch her suffer; you understand that, don't you? But I'll be there to keep you company. Until the end."

The look that passed between us then was one of the most profound looks, I think, that we ever shared. At that moment I knew we loved each other more than either one of us had ever realized. When I told him I'd be cloned for him, no matter what, I knew that we'd made the right choices back on Tantrum, when we finally got together. I knew it, and so did he.

Well, anyway, he went down to run his tests, and we found out that it *would* be all right, for all of us. The food stuffs they replicated were all transformed, too, just the way Tom and Harry had been. The biochemistry was Demon biochemistry, but to Tom and Harry--the clone Tom and Harry--the apple tasted like an apple, the beer tasted like beer, and the leola root--God help us--tasted like leola root. Just as vile as ever. You can't win them all, I guess. 

The microbiological tests came out okay, too. Cell division occurred the way it always does, and at virtually the same rate. The Doctor declared that growth and aging should proceed in the same predictable way it does in our biochemical system. There might be a slight deceleration in growth and aging, on the order of 2 to 4%, but that wasn't enough to bother ourselves about. Our lives and those of our children probably would be marginally longer than that of humans on Voyager or Earth.

So, I said yes to being cloned. The whole crew did. Even Seven. I wasn't sure about her at first. She surprised me. She'd never even wanted to be part of the crew, yet she was willing to have this avatar of herself hanging around with the rest of us on Demon. 

I'll admit, I looked at her differently then. She grew up, somehow, right in front of me. The captain, of course, was beaming at Seven. Some things never change, I guess.

All of us who weren't manning a critical station were in the cargo hold when we agreed to be cloned, but then the captain stunned us all with her next announcement. 

There were two who weren't going to be able to come to the surface with us. The Doctor and Nanny *had* no DNA. They couldn't be cloned as themselves. Tom's and Harry's--clone Tom and Harry, that is--their experiments had shown that our current holoemitter technology was simply too delicate to survive in Demon's atmosphere, and we still hadn't been able to recreate the 29th century technology for mobile emitters that worked on Voyager, let alone on Demon. So we were going to be without the services of the Doctor and Nanny, unless we all agreed on something radical.

The Tom and Harry clones proposed something that *was* radical. We have DNA in storage in the form of blood samples from all the crew, which the Doctor keeps for research purposes. Originally, those samples had been taken so that blood and tissues could be replicated in an emergency for medical treatment. Some of them aren't needed for that any more: some of them belong to our dead.

Hogan. Kaplan. Bendera. Jonas. Suder. Durst. The Starfleeters who died when the Array first brought us all here, like Fitzgerald, Cavit, T'Pera, and Stadi. Even Seska! Any of them could live again on Demon, if the minds of Nanny and the Doctor could somehow be transferred to cloned bodies. The Tom and Harry clones were sure it could be done.

There were ethical considerations, of course. Lots of them! But I could see the rationale, even though they couldn't answer for themselves to give consent. Would Kurt Bendera really object to having his body resurrected? I was sure he'd say he'd be willing to give life another shot, especially with the rest of us there to keep him company. Besides, we really needed the Doctor and Nanny. There was too much data in their programs to expect any of us to be able to absorb it all and still be ourselves, too.

After a lot of discussion and a vote, we agreed. Two of the blood samples, chosen by lot from amongst the dead, would be cloned for the EMH and the HHT. 

After that vote was taken, Tuvok asked if the Doctor could go back to Sickbay to begin preparations for our samples. Once the Doctor was gone, Tuvok gave us another jolt. He and Vorik requested that two more samples be cloned. They wanted to recreate their bond mates. 

Since Tuvok had had many melds with T'Pel over his lifetime, it wasn't difficult to believe he could successfully imprint his wife T'Pel's memories and essence onto the clone of the Vulcan nurse who had died during the journey to the Delta Quadrant. 

Vorik did not have this advantage of many mind melds, but, as it turned out, he didn't really need it. The woman he wanted to resurrect had melded minds with him here on Voyager. That's who he wanted to resurrect.

Ahni Jetal had been friendly with Vorik before his pon farr, but after that failed mating with me, he became as close to her as any Vulcan could be to a human. He realized that of all the potential mates available to him aboard Voyager, he had missed the one that most complemented him. About a week before her death, Ahni offered to become Vorik's mate. Tuvok helped them to bond with a mind meld--a full one. She'd wanted to experience Vorik's memories of the pon farr so she would know what she would have to endure when it came the next time.

I remembered Ahni's coolness to me just before she died. I hadn't any idea why back then. I also remembered how Vorik acted at her funeral and for some time afterwards. He was more rigidly controlled than I'd ever seen him. Vorik had never been as dispassionate as other Vulcans I'd known, but now, he seemed to be an ultra-Vulcan. Now I understood. He had been in deep mourning for his mate and was doing everything in his power to control his feelings. 

After Ahni's death, Vorik thought it illogical to tell the whole crew about their bond. Why bother? She was gone. Only Tuvok and Kes, whose telepathic powers had already increased to the point that she had "read," and even encouraged, their becoming a couple, had known of their bonding. But even if he'd decided it *was* logical to tell us, it quickly became impossible.

When the Doctor's cyber-breakdown occurred and his ethical subroutines went loopy on us, all evidence of Ahni's existence had to be purged from the computers. No one could mention her when the Doctor was near. How terrible that must have been for Vorik! He'd never had the chance to acknowledge what Ahni had become to him, and now he couldn't even talk about her. 

He did what he could. Though her logs and history had to be deleted from the computers, Vorik wanted Ahni to live on in his memories. Before they were purged, he downloaded all of her personal logs onto data PADDs. It was the closest he could come to preserving her human "katra." Secretly, he stored all of her possessions with his. He vowed that when Voyager came home, he would return them to her family and let them know that they had been one, even if it had been for such a short time. Kes suggested to Vorik that Ahni's blood factors might still be useful for medical treatments. Despite the fact that untruths would have to be told for the ruse to be successful, Vorik agreed that saving Ahni's blood was the logical thing to do. The small vial of her blood in Sickbay was deliberately mismarked with a false name so the Doctor wouldn't know who it had belonged to if he accidentally stumbled upon it.

In this way, Vorik had managed to save what he needed to bring at least the shadow of Ahni Jetal back to life on Demon. Now he needed one more thing: permission to clone her, so that an attempt could be made to reanimate her. 

There was loads of discussion about this. Ultimately, what tipped the scales in Vorik's favor was that the more DNA samples were available to the community, the broader the gene pool on Demon would be. And the broader the gene pool, the more likely the colony would thrive. We agreed that the Doctor on Voyager would not be told about Ahni, but on Demon, he'd have to know. Hopefully, when he had an inherited human personality rather than just a computerized personality matrix, he'd be okay. Besides, Ahni wouldn't be dead any more. Maybe he wouldn't feel so guilty then.

In the end, six people who had died were cloned, and more might have been if we could have figured a way to give them at least a semblance of their personalities. In addition to T'Pera and Ahni, Alyssa Kaplan was chosen by lot to be Nanny. We decided that two Doctors, mental "twins," would be created. Captain Janeway also suggested two groups of clones should be left on the planet to improve the odds of the colony's survival. When we told him about it later, the EMH agreed that there was a lot of medical knowledge the colony would need to have available, and besides, he had more than enough subroutines to contribute to two people. I can certainly confirm that! I liked the idea of saving another guy, though, to decrease the chance that "the Ahni factor" would cause us to lose the Doctor. Two men's names were pulled at random. Pete Durst and Kurt Bendera won a second chance at life. Then we decided to create a second Nanny, just in case. Lieutenant Stadi, the first helmsman of Voyager, won that lottery.

We decided, however, that the two Doctors and Nannies weren't going to get only the EMH and HHT personality subroutines and memory engrams. We agreed the personal logs of Kaplan, Durst, Stadi, and Bendera should be sent down to Demon, too, along with replicated copies of their possessions that we had in storage, destined to be given to their families when Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant. We knew we couldn't totally recreate their personalities, of course, or most of their memories, but at least those thoughts they'd wanted preserved could be passed on to their "descendants." It was only fair. The clones might never want to listen to them, but they should have the opportunity to learn who they came from, if they wanted to know.

Once this tricky stuff was decided, the Doctor was called back in to take blood samples from the living. Linnis cried for a few seconds when the Doctor pricked her foot, but with one chuck under the chin by Neelix, she stopped crying and smiled, the tears still running down her face. I think she was more surprised than anything. It really didn't hurt, and . . ."::::

"B'Elanna, aren't you finished with that log entry yet? You've been dictating that thing for over an hour!" Having entered their quarters quietly, Tom startled his wife when he passed where she was sitting, engrossed as she was in dictating into her data PADD. 

"Tom! . . . uh. 'End personal log.' You know, Tom, you're always doing that." Hissing with annoyance, B'Elanna placed the PADD down on the seat next to her.

"Doing what?"

"Interrupting me in the middle of a log entry."

"If you spend hours making log entries, of course I'm going to interrupt you!" he agreed, speaking as quietly as he could as he crept lightly to the cradle to check on his daughter. Linnis was sleeping soundly.

"Our log entries are important! Future generations are going to want to look back and see just this colony was created."

Breathing a deep sigh of relief as he slipped off his uniform jacket, Tom stretched luxuriously as he tossed the discarded garment onto a storage crate. "I know they're important. That doesn't mean you have to document the founding of the entire colony in one night." Slipping behind B'Elanna, he teased in a sultry voice, "Now that I'm off duty, I've got better things to do than make log entries. You can always bring the PADD to bed with you and finish later, all snuggled up close to me."

"Right. Like I'd really be able to concentrate on dictating a log entry that close to you."

"Are you saying I'm irresistible, Lieutenant?"

"Very funny, Tom. Ha, ha. Now, where have I heard that before?"

"You've got to admit the surroundings are about right."

"There better not be any earthquakes--except for the personal kind, of course," B'Elanna laughed. "We do have this strange affinity for caverns, don't we, Tom?"

"Yup, but it's a lot warmer in here than the last time we were in a cave together. Making little Linnis . . ." He wrapped his arms around his wife and touched the back of her neck lightly with his lips as both fell silent.

Their surroundings evoked many memories in both of them. The ambient light from the silver pool running along one wall gleamed against rough rock walls, highlighting many colorful veins of minerals that ran through stalactites and stalagmites which buttressed the ceiling of the large, yet somehow comfortable, chamber. These were not standardized, Starfleet-issue crew quarters; this was a raw, natural setting. All of them would have to get used to living like this for some time to come. There were many tasks more important to the new colony's immediate future than building housing units similar to those they'd had on Voyager. A large number of caves were available for housing, needing only minimal modification, if any, to make them seem like home to the inhabitants.

After several quiet moments enjoying her husband's touch, B'Elanna whispered soberly, "So how are they?"

He knew exactly who "they" were. "Sedated. Tuvok's wife and Ahni are in Vulcan healing trances, but we tested the new sedative hypos on the others. They work fine. We woke up Alyssa, Kurt, Pete, and Stadi just briefly, but . . ."

As his hesitation lengthened, B'Elanna asked him with concern, "What's the matter, Tom? Didn't the memory engrams download right?"

"Oh, no, that went fine. They've got the computer memories all right. Alyssa and Stadi got Nanny's, and both Kurt and Pete have the Doctor's, but . . . it's really odd. Their personalities are there, but they're . . . submerged into the personalities of the people they were cloned from. There's a lot of Alyssa in that Nanny. The Stadi Nanny has her Betazoid telepathic senses intact. And the two Doctors are really different, from what I could tell. Pete even called himself by his own name before we did and asked why we were calling him Doc. We woke up Kurt first, and when he started asking questions about how he knew so much more about medicine than he used to, the captain told him a lot had happened since he became 'unconscious'. He accepted that, and we put him back to sleep. That warned us, so we just woke each of them up, to make sure they had the memories they were supposed to and told them it was too complicated for a complete explanation now--that they needed to rest up. The captain wants to talk to them tomorrow, one at a time, in case they get upset."

"That is strange. What about T'Pel--or is she going to stay T'Pera? And Ahni?"

"T'Pel. She said that for Tuvok's sake, she should use that name. T'Pera was unbonded, and she feels it's 'logical' to preserve the name Tuvok would prefer. She's got the memories of T'Pel that Tuvok gave her, but she's a little like T'Pera was, too, according to the captain. I met T'Pera, but I never got to know her. I was only on the ship a few days before she was killed."

"Personality is inherited, isn't it?"

"Yes, to a degree, so that can explain how some of T'Pera is in T'Pel. But Ahni. B'Elanna, she really *is* Ahni. It's incredible. She remembered her birthday party! In fact, she remembers everything right up to getting her last assignment with Harry and the Doctor. "

"So? Vorik and Tuvok did that mind meld . . ."

"That's just it, B'Elanna. The mind meld took place a week before that assignment--and before the surprise party. How could she have remembered getting sent off with Harry and the Doc? "

"That's right! And her blood sample must have been taken years ago, when she first was assigned to Voyager!"

"Exactly. It's totally unexpected that she knows so much. It's good for Vorik, of course, and for her, too, in the long run. Still. Everything about this is really weird."

"I know. I've been thinking about this whenever I've had a spare moment, Tom. How were *our* memories and personalities reproduced when only our DNA was taken?"

"We don't know, B'Elanna. We've all been talking about that. With Harry and I, we understand how it could have happened. The goo touched our bodies; it's not so farfetched that it could absorb our personalities and memories somehow at the same time. But the rest of you? Maybe personality is inherited, but memories? How did that happen? Even from blood samples taken today--we don't know of any mechanism for memory to be encoded in DNA. There's no room, for starters!"

B'Elanna shivered, despite the warmth in the cavern. Tom wrapped her more tightly within the circle of his arms and kissed her gently as she sighed, "I don't want to think about it anymore today."

"Good. I've got something better to do right now than talk about the mystery of creation."

"Oh, really? What, may I ask, might that be?"

"I'm in the mood for a little creation, but there's no mystery about it. We've got a home now. Shall we start filling it up with brothers and sisters for Linnis? What do you say?"

"I'm not in any rush for another baby, Tom. But I wouldn't mind . . . practicing . . . for next time."

"Just what I'm in the mood for." As he finished speaking, he put his lips to better use, meeting up with B'Elanna's for a deep, heart-felt kiss. The warm cavern seemed even warmer, pulsing with imminent life, as his hands moved down to her waist and began to fumble with her pants closure.

"Maybe we should adjourn to bed before we get any further."

"Sounds good to me," he answered seductively. 

As they traversed the chamber, they helped each other shed a trail of garments over the stone floor. By the time they sank down onto their makeshift bed, both were naked, stroking each other in the ways they knew stirred each other to excitement. In deference to the child sleeping in an alcove off the main chamber of the cavern they kept their enjoyment under control they were quiet. Very, very quiet. Maybe too quiet.

Just as Tom's mouth slipped below B'Elanna's navel along its amorous journey to its intended destination, a familiar wail was heard. So were several Klingon curses as milk began to dribble from B'Elanna's nipples. "Damn! I knew we wasted too much time jabbering," Tom muttered, looking down at his throbbing member, which now would have to wait a considerable amount of time before being relieved of its tension.

B'Elanna snorted as she rose up and walked to the cradle, clucking apologies to her vocal, angry infant. As soon as she was picked up, Linnis shuddered in relief and sought out B'Elanna's nipple. B'Elanna walked back to bed with Linnis in her arms, already tugging hungrily at her breast.

Settling herself down in Tom's arms, she apologized under her breath when her backbone bumped against his erection, provoking a grunt from her husband. He couldn't be very comfortable, considering his current state. As he wiggled into a less uncomfortable position, she asked, "You will remember where we left off, won't you?"

"I'll make sure we don't skip any steps, if that's what you mean."

"That's what I mean." Jostling around, they managed to find a more satisfactory position for all of them. Linnis happily sucked away at her late-night snack while B'Elanna rested on her side. Tom's warm body supported her from behind. For a while, the only sounds were tiny murmurs from Linnis, sighing in contentment as her belly filled. 

B'Elanna was the one to finally break the silence. "And Seven? How's she?"

"Shook up, B'Elanna. Really shook. The captain and Harry were with her, trying to calm her down, when I left to come back home. I've never seen her like that before."

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

"Yeah. But it's going to be an adjustment. A big one. Bigger even than when Seven of Nine came to Voyager, I think."

B'Elanna turned to look into her husband's eyes, filled with sympathy for the former Borg. "You know, we really shouldn't call her that anymore."

=^=

 

". . . the lark, the herald of the morn,  
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks  
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:  
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day  
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.  
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Juliet: Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I:  
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,  
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,  
And light thee on thy way to Mantua:  
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.

Romeo: Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;  
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.  
I'll say yon gray is not the morning's eye,  
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;  
Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat  
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:  
I have more care to stay than will to go.--  
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.--"

 

"Seven, that was perfect. Letter perfect. And from just one quick reading of the PADD," said Harry encouragingly. He lifted his eyes from the copy of the scene from "Romeo and Juliet" she had been reciting. "You see, your memory is fine."

"My memory may be intact, but the rest of my neurological system no longer performs adequately. I fail to comprehend why part of my brain continues to function optimally without my implants when the rest does not."

Janeway patted Seven's arm solicitously. "I imagine Annika Hansen must have been born with an eidetic memory--that gift must have come to you from your parents, not your Borg implants. I'm sure you'll find other ways in which you're still the same Seven you always were. You were never just a Borg drone; you've always had your own talents. Now you'll have a chance to find out what they are without wondering if they come from being Borg or from yourself."

"And we'll help you in any way we can, Seven," Harry added.

"How can you help me? Can you rebuild my implants?"

Harry sighed. "You know we don't have the technology to do that here. Even on Voyager, we'd be limited in how much of that we could do. We'll have to help you adjust to the way things have changed for you." 

"You mean I must adapt."

"Yes, Seven. That pretty much says it," Harry said, resting his hand on her shoulder. 

Seven sat tailor-style on the floor between Harry and Janeway. Her back was hunched over, no longer proudly erect, as it always had been when she had sailed imperiously through the corridors of Voyager. Huddled in the cavern, she looked more like a lost child than a grown woman who had already lived several lives--and who would now have to switch gears once again. From human to Borg. From Borg to part Borg/part human. And now, that part Borg/part human was a Demon-transformed human, without a trace of Borg nanoprobes or devices in her body. In an uncertain voice, she hesitantly repeated, "I . . . must . . . adapt."

The three of them sat together wordlessly for several moments, with Captain Janeway still resting her hand on Seven's forearm while Harry gently rubbed Seven's back. At another time, so much contact might have resulted in an explosion from Seven, but not this time. Eventually, she sighed and looked towards Harry. "Ensign Kim. You said you would help me?"

"Yes, Seven. Anything."

"Will you permit me to remain here, in your quarters? I do not wish to move to the cave assigned to me. I do not wish . . . to be alone."

Harry looked up at the captain, who silently gestured assent. "Sure, Seven. We'll get all your things moved here. Do you want to get them now?"

The captain answered, "I'll have them moved here, Harry. There's an extra chamber opening off this one. I'll reassign it to Seven for the time being, until she's ready to be on her own again."

Seven looked at Harry and then at the captain. Words seemed to be at the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated. Finally, she managed a quavery, "Acceptable."

Harry took to his feet and looked down at Seven. She seemed dazed still, but when she looked up at Harry, she raised her hands to him and allowed him to help her to her feet.

Janeway stood up and brushed her hands together. "Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to my own quarters now. I've got some things to finish up with."

"Yes, it's getting late, Captain. You should get some rest." 

"I wouldn't mind getting a little sleep, Harry. It's been a busy day. It's not every day someone gets turned into an identical twin." The captain's drawling attempt at humor provoked the desired smile from Harry, but Seven stood next to him, her hands still clenching his as if she needed to balance this suddenly alien body of hers on the uneven floor, her face a frozen mask of confusion.

"Don't worry about Seven, Captain. I'll make sure she's okay."

"If you need anything at all, just use your Comm badge to signal for me. Both of you."

Seven managed a brief nod before turning away to pick up the blanket the three of them had spread over the floor to sit upon. "I will place this in the other chamber, Ensign Kim."

"Fine, Seven."

When she'd left, Janeway whispered to Harry, "Are you sure you don't mind, Harry? I can move her into quarters with Chakotay and me."

"No, it's fine, Captain. I'd like to help her. We've gotten to be pretty good friends in the last few months, and she seems so lost. I guess she is lost--she lost who she was. The rest of us weren't changed at all, in comparison to the way she has been."

"You may be the best person to help her, Harry. I'd say you understand about loss as well as any of us."

"I had good friends to help me when Kes was . . . transformed. It's only fair I give back to somebody else. I guess I feel a little responsible, too. If it weren't for Tom and me getting cloned, the rest of you wouldn't have been. Then she wouldn't have even been in this predicament."

The captain looked shrewdly at her young officer, who had lost his wife only a few months ago and now, in this persona, at least, had given up any chance of returning to his family in the Alpha Quadrant. "I'm glad you've become friends, Harry. You may be able to help her in ways I never could."

"I hope so, Captain. Send her things over. Well, I guess she's not going to need that regeneration unit, will she?"

"No. I'll send everything else, though. Have a good night, Harry."

"Good night, Captain."

When Captain Janeway glanced over her shoulder as she was about to leave Harry's cavern, she saw him carrying his own blanket into the adjoining chamber to give to Seven. The captain stifled a smile.

=^=

"Smells good, Chakotay."

Chakotay paused from stirring the stew he was preparing. A bag, suspended by a sturdy cord from a rock outcrop near the ceiling, was filled with a fragrant mix of "Demonized" vegetables. Their very late supper was cooking rapidly, thanks to the heat rising from the bubbling pool in the front room of the cavern. "It's about time you showed up. I thought I might have to eat all this myself."

"You'd better not. I'm famished."

After giving the stew another quick stir, Chakotay put down the spoon. Standing, he grabbed a pad and pulled the cord carefully, swinging the bag away from the pool and grabbing it by the handle. "I'll be needing that large bowl over there, Kathryn."

She picked up the container and held it while he poured the stew into the bowl. When the bag was empty, he deftly jerked up on the cord, causing the loop on the outcrop to slip off and disengage. "That's a pretty neat trick, Commander. You're very handy to have around. Something you picked up as a boy from your father?"

"No, survival training. I could have learned it as a boy, if I'd ever bothered to. And I thought we'd decided to give up ranks here, *Captain.*"

"I'm sorry, Chakotay. Old habits die hard. Or maybe I'm just too hungry to think straight."

"We can't have that. Let's fill up your stomach and maybe you'll remember my name."

"Yes, let's eat, CHAKOTAY," she emphasized, smiling crookedly.

He produced two small bowls and filled them with stew. Little was said by either of them while they quickly consumed two helpings apiece, followed by a few cups of the herbal tea keeping warm in a pot by the pool. "Coffee tomorrow, Kathryn. I didn't feel like fooling with brewing it tonight."

"What? Oh, that's all right. This is fine for tonight. I'm too tired for coffee now, believe it or not," she said, distractedly.

"That's a first." 

"A first time for everything." She sighed, swirling the last sip of her tea around the bottom of her cup. "There's going to be a lot of firsts, for quite a while, I think."

"I'm sure," he agreed. "You know, I halfway thought you'd bring Seven with you when you came back."

"I was going to bring her back. She asked to stay with Harry tonight."

"Really?"

"Now, stop that. You know Harry has no nefarious designs on her. Harry, of all people!"

"I don't know about that. They've gotten pretty close."

She smiled. "I said, 'nefarious designs.' I didn't mean to imply they haven't gotten close enough for something to happen between them. I wouldn't be surprised if Seven stayed with Harry indefinitely. Maybe always, after what's happened. I just meant that Harry won't push her into anything too quickly."

"What happened? Being cloned?"

"I was referring to when she first woke up after being cloned. She was terribly upset. Tom went to see what was wrong, but she insisted that Harry come to her, too. While Tom was checking her out with the tricorder, Harry comforted her."

"It must have been a shock not to be Borg at all anymore--not even in the limited way she's been since she was severed from the Collective," Chakotay mused as he sipped the last bit of tea from his cup.

"Yes, it was a big shock, in more ways than one. Chakotay, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you this before, but the reason Seven was the last one to be . . . duplicated . . . was because Tuvok wanted his security team in place around her."

"Security team? Why?"

"When she agreed to be cloned, Seven took me aside and asked me to place them there. She wasn't sure what would happen when her nanoprobes were duplicated. She thought she might end up reverting to a full Borg. If that happened, she wanted us to destroy her immediately, before she had a chance to adapt to phaser fire."

Chakotay stared at Kathryn dumbly. "Gods, I didn't even think of that. And then she didn't have any nanoprobes at all in that blood sample! It's ironic."

"Which is very strange, Chakotay. It's hard to believe. From the concentration of nanoprobes in her bloodstream, there should have been dozens, if not hundreds of them, in a vial with that volume of blood in it. The Doctor on Voyager swore he did nothing to remove them, yet when Tom checked out our remaining sample, there weren't any in there, either. It's like all the nanoprobes were screened out of her blood. I can't explain it. Tom has no idea how this could be possible. None of the science team has a clue as to how that could have happened, but it did. Seven isn't Borg at all."

"It certainly puts a new wrinkle into her new life here. She really isn't Seven of Nine. She's Annika Hansen."

"Yes, I guess that's true, Chakotay. But she has Seven's memories--all of them, as far as we can tell. Harry and I just checked. She still has an eidetic memory. She remembers being a drone and being Seven. You know how we agonized over the morality of how Bendera, Ahni, and the others who were dead would feel about being brought to new life when they couldn't be asked in advance? I never expected to have to deal with Seven having such a completely new life, too."

"Life's like that."

"Yes, new curves are thrown at us all the time."

They fell silent as they grappled with the changes they had embraced, some, as they now knew all too well, without understanding the full implications. They would have to learn to deal with these unexpected repercussions, as well as the expected ones.

The bubbling pool in the rocky cavern was an alien setting for them, too. A new curve had been thrown at them, even though both had willingly accepted it. 

Kathryn looked up into the warm pair of brown eyes staring solemnly at her. She wondered what he was thinking, and then she knew. His expression was one she remembered well, from another time when life had thrown a curve at them, when they'd thought their lives as they had known them had ended. They'd begun a new relationship with each other on the planet they'd called New Earth, only to be "rescued" and returned to Voyager. That time, they'd resumed their old lives and Starfleet protocols. New Earth had been so different from Demon, yet from Kathryn Janeway's point of view, Demon's challenging environment was closer to New Earth than to life on Voyager. 

As his look of longing penetrated her consciousness, a sigh escaped her lips.

He misunderstood. Wincing in response, he said, a grim smile on his face. "Having second thoughts, Kathryn?"

"Too late for second thoughts now. We're here! And even if we could find a way to survive on Voyager, Voyager's flown away. We have to make do, no matter what reservations we might have."

"I mean about us."

"Do you really think I'd have second thoughts about this, Chakotay? No. I said I'd get my crew home. And this crew *is* home. I've kept my promise to them. Since I'm not a starship captain any more, certain protocols no longer need apply." Picking up his strong left hand in both of hers, Janeway gently massaged his fingers and said softly, "I'm not having any second thoughts. Are you?" She lifted her eyes to his, a hint of a grin teasing at the corners of her mouth before her crooked smile spread across her face.

He didn't have to answer in words. His reply glinted joyfully from his eyes, punctuated by a pair of dimples conjured up by her declaration. She leaned forward slightly, ready to kiss him. Instead, his left hand fastened onto hers and raised her up with him. "In that case, I've got something to show you."

"Aren't we going to clean up our mess first?" she said innocently. 

"The dishes can wait."

"You haven't made your report to me about the equipment projections yet."

"You're an evil woman, Kathryn Janeway. I can report on the way, if you wish."

She laughed then, and so did he. He pulled her behind him, up a series of terraced rock steps that almost seemed to have been cut into the rock, through an opening to a tunnel that led back, deep into the cavern complex they'd chosen for their quarters. 

After passing through two dim rooms, they slipped beneath a low opening into a large chamber. As he entered, Chakotay stooped down, picking up and turning on a wrist light. They walked several meters further, around a stone column, with the wrist light highlighting their path to a large pool of liquid. "Your bathtub, ma'am."

She laughed delightedly. "You made this for me? Chakotay, you certainly are a man of many talents."

"I didn't exactly make it. I found it. The best part is, this tub is large enough for two. I've tried it out already." He bent down and fumbled around near a stone until he found what he was looking for. A flash of light flared out, making her dark-adapted eyes squint shut. When she opened them again, a small depression danced with soft blue fire. He moved around the pool, lighting two dozen more depressions into beauty. "I also found some flammable material and put it around here. We may not have candles, but this is a pretty close approximation."

"It's lovely, Chakotay." It was the simple truth. The dancing flames were still primarily blue, but as they stabilized and grew taller, a golden glow tipped each of their tops, bathing the pool and the two humans in soft, romantic light. 

Reaching her side again, Chakotay extinguished the gas lighter, leaving it on a stone shelf, not far from the first flame. 

"Shall we?" he asked, slipping open his tunic top.

"Yes, I could use a nice, relaxing bath right about now. This has been *a day.*"

They undressed unhurriedly. They could take their time, if they wished. Chakotay finished first and helped Kathryn remove her clothing, perhaps delaying more than helping her with the sensuous way he caressed the garments away from her skin. When he stood up after slipping her last garment from her feet, they stood naked in each other's presence for the first time in almost two years. Eliminating the distance between them, they embraced, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss that became more passionate as the intervening lonely years disappeared into ephemeral memory.

At last they separated. Chakotay carefully directed her into the pool, guiding her to the submerged shelf where the two of them could sink down and sit chest deep in the warm, mineral-laden liquid that was the equivalent of water. 

"Oh, Chakotay, this is marvelous. It feels so good. I really needed this."

"I can tell. Look how tight your neck and shoulders are." His fingers began to knead her neck as she sighed and grunted in contentment. 

"Oh, yes. Don't stop, Chakotay," Kathryn pleaded, as his hands traveled down her spine, below the level of the water. His strong, sure touch massaged her back, then began to work on her hips and buttocks as she leaned back against him. "More, please," she whispered, and he could tell that she wasn't asking him to massage her back.

His chiseled lips kissed her shoulders and neck as his hands circled around to her front. His hands closed over her full breasts. She squirmed back against him and groaned as his massaging fingers moved further down her body. Murmuring his name, Kathryn flipped herself around to face him, pulling her legs around his waist to pull herself closer to him. Her breasts were now above water level, and his mouth found another place to lavish attention. She whispered his name, then answered his unspoken question, "Here? Shall we?"

In answer, he cupped her buttocks with his hands and lifted her until she totally enclosed him within her flesh. He stayed still for a moment, savoring the full excitement of feeling himself within her--what he'd missed for so long. What they'd both missed for so long. Leaning forward so that his lips grazed her, he murmured, "Kathryn?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Do you want my equipment report now?"

"Who's evil now?" she exclaimed, impudently tapping him on the shoulder with her forefinger as her entire body shook with laughter. His dimples bloomed in his cheeks as she chuckled, then sighed. The shaking caused just enough motion to begin a delectable friction wherever they touched, evoking a low, soft moan from her partner. 

"I've got a very good idea about the state of the only equipment I care about at the moment. Let's use it the way it was intended, shall we?" she growled into his ear.

He had no objections to that suggestion at all. Soon the bathing chamber echoed with the cries of a very satisfied first officer and his captain, although they had shed those titles forever. They reverted to what they had always been but could not express openly aboard Voyager: a man and a woman whose love for each other was rivaled only by the strength of their friendship. 

=^=

B'Elanna leaned back on her elbows, enjoying the sight of her husband's buttocks as they retreated from her. When he reached the small alcove where the cradle was located, he turned, standing briefly in profile. 

In his arms, their daughter slept contentedly, pillowed upon her father's fuzzy chest. Her small, soft features were "smooshed" against her father's shoulder; and though she couldn't see Linnis' face in the dim light of the cavern, B'Elanna smiled at the peaceful expression she knew must be there. She knew how Tom must look, too--full of pride and love, as he always was when he held his daughter. The cocky playboy pilot was completely in thrall to the fruit of his loins. There was no sign of "Tom the pig" when the devoted father cuddled his Linnis. 

Before Tom bent down to put the baby into her bed, he gently kissed the top of her fuzzy dark head. B'Elanna smiled. Here was one female that never made her feel jealous when Tom paid court to her. She was still amazed at just how besotted by their child she'd become--just as much as her husband. Miraculous. After the trials they'd endured in their own families, this was totally unexpected for both of them. Perhaps there was hope. Healing might be possible in the universe after all. If B'Elanna could do anything to assure Linnis of a long life, she would do it, even if the price should be her own life.

She watched him ease the baby down and caught her breath. This was the critical moment. She exhaled thankfully several seconds later. No crying. There would be time now for the amorous pursuits interrupted so rudely by Linnis earlier. 

Tom, however, didn't return to B'Elanna immediately. He took a few steps from the cradle, then sauntered languidly to the far corner of the cavern, flexing his arms and shoulders while stretching his back. B'Elanna's smile of amusement grew. She was familiar with this game of Tom's. He was teasing her, displaying his body shamelessly while far out of reach. He wanted her to chase him. Well, two could play that game.

While she admired the pleasing interplay of the muscles of his back and shoulders, B'Elanna extended herself onto her right side. As Tom reached for the ceiling, B'Elanna stretched her entire body catlike on the blankets of their bed. As she ruminated at the unfairness of life, that his sympathetic weight gain from her pregnancy had all but melted away while she still had to work at getting the extra fat off her buttocks, hips, and thighs (Thank Kahless she was nursing Linnis!), she undulated on the bed. Idly, she noted that nursing had made a noticeable difference in helping her get back into shape. The fact that her breasts were fuller than normal thanks to nursing was simply a side benefit. She would have to work harder than him to get rid of the rest of her baby fat, of course. The curse of being female.

Not that it seemed like a particularly heinous curse at the moment. By not getting up and tackling him, the way she usually did, she'd attracted Tom's attention. Squirming around on the bed hadn't hurt, either. He was just standing in the corner now, gazing at B'Elanna with a familiar gleam in his eyes. 

Now was the time to use the heavy ammunition. 

Rolling onto her back, B'Elanna spread-eagled her legs, sighing, lazily rubbing herself with the fingers of one hand while squeezing her nipples with the other. She couldn't see Tom's face, but she didn't have to. She could hear him moan as his bare feet slapped across the floor to their bed. In seconds he was looming over her, the look of a starving man on his face. She commented, "I was beginning to wonder if I needed to send you an engraved invitation."

"Bitch," he murmured, but with the smirk on his face that turned the word into an endearment.

"Pig," she purred, using the same inflection of affection he had.

It was time for capitulation. She spread her legs a little wider and began to moan from her self-stimulation.

Tom groaned and sank onto his knees next to her. She had him.

"You need me to remind you where you left off?" she gasped, as she pulled his right hand down to replace her fingers with his. At that overt invitation, he began to play with her expertly, massaging her until B'Elanna wanted to cry out, although she choked it back. The last thing she wanted to do was wake Linnis again. 

His mouth descended to her breast. His tongue lapped at her nipple while the fingers of his free hand stroked her forehead ridges gently, in a motion she found intensely erotic. Moving his mouth up to kiss her mouth again, he leaned his body down just enough for the golden down on his chest to barely graze against her nipples. It drove her wild--as he was very well aware it would.

Lifting his mouth away from hers, he gazed into her eyes. All the love she had ever wanted a man to give her but had never expected to see shone out of his eyes. She wanted to speak but found no words to say. That wasn't a problem. As usual, he was ready with a quip of his own. "No, you didn't need to remind me. I just feel like taking my time, now that we won't be interrupted again."

She was going to say, "How do you know we won't be interrupted," when he began to kiss his way down her body. The words stuck in her throat. She knew exactly what he was going to do, and as many times as he did it to her, she never tired of it. As his attentions to her increased, she stuffed her hand into her mouth to keep a scream from erupting out of it in the face of his unrelenting, wonderful torment. 

He kept at her until she came, and then he kept at her some more until she came again. At that point she grabbed him by the hair to pull his face up to her mouth for a long kiss. Her nose couldn't detect any variance from her normal scent; his familiar masculine odor assailed her nostrils. Her body responded to his in the same old way. His body felt the way it always had, his firm muscles working beneath his warm, soft skin. 

Tom must have been thinking along the same lines, for when they broke off the kiss, he said, "I know our body chemistry isn't the same, but so help me, you taste just like you always have." 

"Our brains must be telling us it's still us."

"Brains. Hearts. Souls. I don't care." He kissed her again. As he arched himself over her, he added softly, "B'Elanna. Thank you."

"For what?" she panted, genuinely puzzled.

"For being here with me."

Her lips curled into a smile as she gazed into those crystalline blue eyes, shining down at her, just as they always did. "You can't get rid of me that easily, Flyboy," she whispered.

Then his hands were upon her, they moved together, just as they always had, making love until he exploded inside her. And, as always, she cried out his name as she shuddered her own release, completing the act that would create, in the not too distant future, their son, one of the first of the native-born generation on Demon.

=^=

After Seven's meager possessions had been delivered by Hamilton and Mbete, as promised, Harry pulled his own gear to one corner of his cavern. His cavern. He halfway expected he'd be calling it home for the rest of his life. 

Since he'd given Seven the blankets issued to him, he took Seven's blankets for himself, unfolding and spreading them out the best he could to form a bed. Every one of the colonists had been issued several of these special blankets, replicated to be able to withstand the heat and harsh conditions of Demon. If the replicators held up, maybe sometime over the next few days they could get something more substantial for cushioning. They certainly had plenty of power, enough to make pretty much whatever they wanted. There was an abundance of deuterium here for their use.

Harry could hear Seven scrabbling around in the next cavern chamber, probably making herself a bed, too. Harry wondered if she would be able to sleep. She'd been so used to going into her alcove, although she hadn't physically needed as many hours regenerating as she'd spent there. 

The alcove and its power generator which had been sent down from Voyager still sat in the cavern where Seven had expected to make her quarters. Harry could understand completely why she hadn't wanted to go there by herself, to be reminded of what had happened to her. However, he still wasn't sure why he'd agreed to let her stay here with him so easily. That was unusually impulsive of him, but for the last couple of days, "Impulsive" seemed to have become Harry's middle name. 

Having Seven a few meters away, just around the other side of a rock wall, would be enough to keep Harry awake all night if he weren't tired. Fortunately, he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was collapse, even on a lumpy, hard bed like this one promised to be. 

As he crumpled gratefully upon his makeshift bed and pulled the top blanket over himself, Harry's thoughts turned to the events of the day. It was hard to credit everything that had happened. He and Tom unknowingly replicated, more or less, first and foremost. He could understand, intellectually, how this goo had recreated him from the "real" Harry Kim, but he still couldn't figure out how he had acquired Harry Kim's intellect. A predisposition to behave a certain way because of inherited personality tendencies and past history, yeah, he could buy that. But how the hell had they gotten all of those memories? Carried in their DNA? Couldn't be. Why, if anything . . .

A groan from the next room interrupted his train of thoughts. "Seven? You okay in there?"

The only reply was another groan, and then a long drawn out moan. Harry untangled himself from his blankets and ran around the corner to the other chamber.

His eyes were treated to the sight of Seven of Nine kneeling on a pile of bedding, moaning--and stark naked. Harry tried to pull his eyes away from her body but could not, not until another moan from her dragged his attention to her face. His heart ached more than the increasingly bothersome pressure in his groin at the fear in her eyes. "They just peel away, like clothing I no longer require," she murmured. "They are no longer a part of me."

Borg components and pieces of implants were scattered in front of her on the floor of the cavern, next to the larger pile of her clothing. Her right hand pulled the web of her exoskeleton away from her left arm as she spoke. Holding out the lacy, useless piece of equipment, she dropped it onto her discarded garments. After sitting down, she bent her left leg to enable her to unroll the matching network of exoskeleton wrap that extended from her upper thigh to her toes. She looked dazed.

Harry tried to look away. In her current position, more of Seven's very considerable physical charms were revealed to him than when she'd been kneeling. In fascination and increasing arousal, he watched her remove the last bit of that which had marked her Borg from her foot. When she'd finished, Seven touched her hand to her eyes and sobbed, "My nose is wet."

"It's okay. It'll be okay." Despite his initial reluctance to get near her, knowing where it could lead, Harry rushed over to kneel before Seven. Gathering her into his arms, he said, "You're crying. Just go ahead. It should make you feel better."

Her blue eyes looked up at him, partially obscured by the tears spilling down over her cheeks. Relaxing into his hold, Seven put her arms around Harry, rested her head against his chest, and let the tears come.

For a minute or two they remained that way, with Harry stroking the bare skin of Seven's back as she cried out her pain. Somehow, his rational, observant self was able to note the absence of any hint of Borgified flesh, even as his emotional self was in turmoil. Patting her lightly on the shoulder to soothe her, Harry caught the fresh scent of her hair. He longed to follow up each pat with a kiss on her neck, but he had to control himself. It wasn't time yet for something like this, for either of them. Too short a time had passed since his bereavement. She had barely had time to adjust to being an individual, and now she needed to adjust to being totally human, not Borg at all. It was impossible. They were impossible. He kept saying that to himself, in a silent litany, as if he needed to convince himself that it was true.

Finally, her shoulders stopped shaking. Harry held her lightly in his arms as she shuddered a few times. "There, isn't that better?" he asked.

"My eyes are sore."

"Crying does that. The tissues get swollen." Harry tilted her head away from his chest and very gently used his thumb to smooth away the tears. Her face looked different without the spidery implant in front of her right ear and the ocular piece over her left eye. That eye had generated as a fully human one, as the right one had always been. Despite the puffiness from her tears, he could see at least a measure of peace in her eyes. "Here, let me help you up, so maybe you can get your clothes back . . ."

As Harry stood up and bent down to grab Seven's arm, he realized his hand had made contact with a body part that was much softer and fleshier than the elbow he'd been aiming for. With more calm than she had shown in hours, Seven said, "I didn't expect you to 'help me up' by the mammary tissues, Harry Kim."

Mortified, Harry let go and arose, backing away a few steps, stuttering, "I'm sorry," several times in succession. "I was reaching for your elbow!"

"Ensign Kim, an apology is not required. I believe I prefer the touch of your hand on my breast to my elbow."

"Seven . . ." Harry didn't think it was possible to be more embarrassed. He was wrong.

"It is true. The touch of your hand is very pleasant--more so than the feel of my own hand touching there. It is . . . comforting. Why is that?"

"Well, I guess . . . . I, uh, it's just . . . "

"You are disturbed by touching me there? Or are you disturbed by holding me in your arms?"

"Seven, I usually know the difference between an elbow and a . . . other parts better than that. And no, I liked holding you in my arms. It wasn't disturbing. Exactly." Harry crossed his arms and looked down towards his toes. Dissembling was never his strong suit.

"You disliked touching my breast?"

From their past history, he knew she wasn't going to let this go. "Not at all. It's just that it's inappropriate for me to touch you there. In this situation. Seven, really, if you're better now, I think I should go lie down in my chamber again." He glanced up as he began to turn away, but a quick glimpse of her face kept him from completing the motion. "Seven, you aren't going to cry again, are you?"

Clearly, she was holding back more sobs. Finally she managed to choke out, "I do not know if I am going to weep again. I don't know anything about what I'm going to do. Now, or in the future. I did not anticipate becoming so . . . so different."

Harry was torn between leaving, as he knew he should, and kneeling down to comfort her. He compromised by continuing to stand before her, saying, "You will adjust to this. We all will. It's just going to take some time to adapt."

"Time to adapt. That has been all that I have been doing for almost a year. I do not know how many more adaptations I can make and continue to function."

He knelt down and cautiously put his hands on her shoulders, very aware of where his hands were in relation to her bosom to make sure he would be unlikely to touch her there accidentally again--especially since the brief brush of his hand against its pillowy softness had burned into his memory. He longed to feel it again.

"You're a strong person, Seven. You *will* adapt, but it's going to take some time. Maybe a year isn't enough for your first change, let alone this new one. I've admired the way you've worked to make yourself adjust to Voyager and the crew, even though you never wanted to be with us. And I'll help you, in any way I can."

"Any way?"

"Yes, Seven. Any way. What do you want me to do for you?"

"I would like you to hold me . . . and touch my breast again."

"Seven, I . . ." Harry had no idea what to say to her. After an awkward silence he realized the truth would be best. "I would like to hold you and touch you, but I don't dare. If I do, it will lead to us doing things that I don't think either one of us is ready for."

"You are afraid it will lead to copulation."

He gulped. "Yes, I think it will. You're still too new to individuality. You need to learn to be yourself, alone, before you get involved with anyone. If you try to do it too soon, it may lead to your getting hurt."

"I understand your desire not to hurt me. You will not. I am ready to explore that part of my individuality. I have wished to explore it for many weeks now, but I haven't known how to do it. Now I . . . I need to explore it. I have been alone too much, Harry Kim."

Harry squeezed her by the shoulders. "You should be comforted, Seven, but that doesn't necessarily mean with sex."

"But I wish it to be with sex."

Harry stared into her eyes. Beautiful blue eyes which reminded him so much of someone else's. He was about to murmur that he wasn't ready to have sex with anyone yet, when she added, "And I believe you wish to have sex with me, too, Harry Kim. Even without my ocular implant, I can see that your pupils have dilated. And the erection of your penis is visible beneath your uniform."

After a moment's shocked silence, Harry laughed out loud, provoking Seven into pulling back from him with a wounded look upon her face. In the process, she almost dislodged his hands from their safe hold on her shoulders. "I'm sorry Seven, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he apologized. "You're just so straightforward about everything."

"Am I wrong about your arousal?"

Sighing, Harry said, "No, you're not wrong. But it's a very big step you're suggesting, for both of us."

"Perhaps. It is why I am here."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Seven of Nine decided to be cloned because she wished to be your mate but does not expect this to occur on Voyager. She requested being cloned so I would be here for you on Demon."

Harry stared at Seven, totally flummoxed by her statement. "I had no idea . . . she feels that way about me . . . or him, I guess I should say. It's funny the way you talk about that Seven of Nine. Everyone else talks as if they really are the same person."

Seven looked away, troubled. "I am not an exact duplicate of that Seven of Nine, the way all of you are of your templates. I am not Borg any more, not in any way. My components are only the ones that Annika Hansen was born with. I have memories about what it was like to be Borg, just as she does, but I don't think the way she does. There is a . . . a gap between my thoughts now. I no longer process information the same way--not as quickly. It is very . . . disconcerting."

"Seven . . ." Harry pulled her close to him, slipping his arms around her back and giving her a gentle hug.

"I do not believe you should call me that. Not anymore."

Harry rested his cheek on hers, aware of the softness of her skin and the warmth emanating from her body. "You want us to call you Annika now?"

"Yes," she said, after the barest of hesitations. "That is a better designation for me now. More precise."

"All right . . . Annika." 

He held her close, aware of her breath on his neck and the many slight movements she was making, probably from discomfort. Their position was awkward. Because of the way she was sitting, with her legs extended forward, there wasn't much room for him to kneel before her. His erection was getting painful enough that he would have to do something about it soon. He knew how his companion would want him to deal with it, but he really didn't think he could do it, not yet, even though the urge to be with her was almost overwhelming. 

Straightening up again, Harry gazed into her eyes. If he looked anywhere else on her body, he was likely to lose control. "Sev . . . Annika, why don't you lie down? I'll pull up the blankets to cover you up, and you can rest."

"How do I do that?" she said in a tone that suggested panic. "I have not simply 'rested' for many years."

"It's easy. Just lie here and relax, and . . . "

"You will stay here with me?"

"It's better I don't."

"I do not wish to be alone. It is difficult. Silent."

"You miss the voice of the Borg?"

"I do." After a moment's pause, during which she seemed to be groping for something to say, she continued, "On Voyager, while I regenerated, I substituted a review of the Starfleet database for the voices of the Collective. The computer's voice was the same, or almost the same, as a neural link. But now, there can be no voices, no link with anyone else. If I cannot have the link of minds, I would have the linking of bodies."

"You see, that's what I mean," Harry said softly. "You aren't ready for that yet. You don't understand what you're asking."

"I am asking you to copulate with me. To engage in the act of sexual intercourse so I will not be alone anymore."

"How can I do that to you? It's not something you do just so you won't be alone."

"What am I to do to make myself ready, Harry Kim? Shall I visit the holodeck and speak to teenaged holocharacters about their life, to see what I've missed? There are no holoemitters here. They are unable to tolerate the conditions. Shall I giggle and flirt, as I learned in the schoolroom? With whom should I do this? You? There is no one here who is an adolescent. I am not an adolescent. I am a woman, twenty-six standard years old. I may not have lived the pattern of life that everyone else has. I do not know all the social skills the Doctor spoke to me about, but I know what I desire. I am not a child, although most of you persist in treating me as one." . . ."

"Annika . . . "

Ignoring his attempt to interrupt, she grasped his left hand, saying "I need you to touch me, here." She rested his hand upon her right breast. Guiding his right hand between her legs she continued, ". . . and here." Her eyes widened at the second contact. She had surprised herself with the sensation his hand's touch created, but she did not remove it. 

"Sev . . . Annika. I know you're not a child, but there's more to this than the act itself. You need to learn that first, and you need to feel something for the one you are with. It shouldn't be just to avoid being alone."

"I am aware of this. I have things I would like to say to you--feelings for you--but I don't know how to speak them. I think you can teach me how, but it will take time. In the meantime, must I be lonely? And must you be lonely, too?"

"If I must be lonely for a while, then I must! It's not that I don't want to be with you! But maybe you'll want somebody else later, Annika. Why tie yourself down to me just because I'm available now?"

"Harry Kim. There are 154 beings on this planet, including those who died but who have been salvaged through their DNA. Approximately half of these beings are female, and contrary to rumors that passed around Voyager, I prefer the idea of being physically linked with a man. Many of the males are already mated. Even before we came here, on Voyager, Seven of Nine recognized that there was only one who would suit all her requirements for a mate. You. That is why I am here. If you are attracted to me also, why should we wait for a later time to begin a life together? I am tired of waiting until I have 'adjusted.' It appears that human life is merely one adjustment after another. Does everyone else wait? Did Lieutenants Torres and Paris decide to wait when they conceived their child? No. The Doctor told me they did not feel ready to become parents at first, but they adapted. Why should I be any different?"

As this uncharacteristic torrent of words rushed out, Harry was reminded of someone else who had been in a hurry to mate. He felt a quick stab of pain as the image of Kes, so sure her Elogium would soon be upon her that she found the husband she wanted to share it with, arose in his mind. Such an impulsive thing to do! The past few days weren't the first time Harry Kim had done something impulsively. For all the brevity of their union, Harry would never have refused Kes, even if he had known then how soon the end would come. Was this another time to act without agonizing over every detail ahead of time?

As these thoughts rushed through his mind, Harry realized he was still kneeling before Seven with his hands touching the intimate spots where she'd placed them. He looked into Seven's eyes and saw pain and longing. She was expressing it in an unorthodox manner, but Seven had always been unorthodox. Perhaps there was more there, too--perhaps she did feel something for him other than the desire not to be alone, but simply did not know how to convey those feelings to him. 

Harry knew what he wanted to do. He was only human (or transformed human--they had yet to decide upon a name for their race). His hands itched to stroke her; his body ached to join with hers, but he had to be sure he wasn't taking advantage of her, or at least, be as sure as he could be that he wasn't.

"If we do this, I may hurt you."

"No, Harry Kim. I do not believe you would ever bring me pain."

Her lips were slightly open. Her breast was moving beneath his hand as air pushed in and out of her lungs. Harry closed his eyes for a second, then he leaned forward and kissed her softly on her full lips. His hand closed over her breast in a gentle, kneading motion. The middle finger of his right hand stiffened as he teased it into her, and he felt her stiffen and gasp slightly. 

Then she moved forward, kissing him more deeply, leaning into both of his hands so that his hand held her bosom more snugly and the questing finger penetrated more deeply. As she leaned in, her hands moved from Harry's waist down to his thigh. One hand moved over the bulge in his pants and carefully cupped it where it was constrained beneath the cloth of his uniform.

Harry was lost. How could he hold himself back from this? Especially since he'd never wanted to hold back in the first place. All his arguments were for his ears, not Seven's. Not Annika's. But now that he permitted himself to remember, he heard a wispy, dear voice, even as it was fading away from him, begging him not to mourn for her so much that he did not allow himself to love again. Harry knew he loved Annika. If she couldn't put a name to what she felt yet, perhaps it was enough that he could.

Slipping both of his hands to her narrow waist, he separated from her kiss and looked into Annika's face. When her eyes opened, he could see she meant every word she'd said. Her lips turned upwards slightly in a semi-smile. He'd have to work on smiling with her. He demonstrated a smile and took to his feet again. 

Harry slid down the fastener from his tunic top and pulled it off. As he grasped the hem of his undershirt, Annika comprehended what he was doing. Her nails scratched lightly against his skin as she dragged down his pants and briefs in one motion, freeing his penis from imprisonment. Annika drew her breath. Quickly, he divested himself of the garments, dropping them on the same pile of clothing that Annika had made. Harry started to kneel down again before suddenly standing and saying, "Wait." 

Walking around the rock wall, Harry retrieved his blankets and carried them back to where Annika was sitting. Her dismay disappeared when she saw what he carried. It was a matter of a minute for the two of them to make a bed with all their blankets piled together. When they were done, Harry pulled Annika down, put his arms around her, and began to kiss her lightly on the face.

"Harry Kim?"

"Just call me Harry."

"Harry. I wanted to tell you that the sensation of your skin against mine is pleasing."

"Yes, yours is, too," he said, smiling. "All your skin is, not just here." Harry took both thumbs and began to rub the areolas around her nipples in slow, delicate circles. 

She didn't need to say anything more. Her deepened breathing spoke for her. Unhurriedly, Harry took Annika on a tour of her own body, letting her experience for herself sensations which her second-hand memories from assimilated drones had barely hinted. Before long she took more initiative, learning the ways she could bring pleasure to him. Eventually, they both lay down on the hard bedroll bed. Even though his own need by that time was so great he wanted to push into her as deeply as he could, he took her virginity carefully, with tenderness. 

It wouldn't have been right to force from Annika the gift she was only too happy to give him. Herself. And after, neither of them felt so alone anymore.

=^=

The Wraith reluctantly separated from the form which she had inhabited for the last two hours. Especially for that last, glorious hour.

Soon they would never need to be separate again, but first there were tasks to perform, loose ends to tie up, before her restless spirit could at last have the chance to rest.

The innate sentience of the planet seethed more strongly into her consciousness as she left the body she had been visiting. The planet's insatiable hunger for the transformation which the Wraith was bringing to fruition washed through her, dizzying in its intensity. "Patience, be patient. It's coming," the Wraith counseled. "It won't be long now."

If the Wraith had had form, a smile would have glowed over her face. In this non-corporeal state, however, all she could do was "think" humorously. That is, it would be if thinking was the right word for the way her consciousness now operated. She wasn't really sure. Perhaps "a true and certain knowledge" said it best.

For a long time she had been like this: perception beyond the realm of the senses, pure knowledge gained as if through osmosis, and driving it all, a thirst to comprehend the universe and how it worked. She'd been like that even when she'd had form. While still in her body, she'd been curious--insatiably so--with a subtle strength and powerful bravery deceptively housed within her slight, delicate-looking humanoid shape. When the change had come, her power had increased tremendously, even though there was so much else she'd been forced to give up.

As she reassured the eager intelligence below, her center of consciousness floated up to the upper strata of the atmosphere. The explorers from across the galaxy had thought those gases noxious and gave the planet the name of Demon. To their biochemistry, it was a hellish place. They would never see beauty here, but their descendants would. The Wraith transmitted images of the time to come, and the intelligence quieted to a willful expectancy. It would come, but only in its own time.

Extending her consciousness over the barren landscape, the Wraith perceived tiny fissures forming in the rocks of the lowlands. The primordial stuff that carried the unique promise of creating biological substances, even sentient life, from its own chameleon-like matter required access to the surface of the land. In a matter of days, thanks to that substance welling up through tiny cracks in soil and bedrock, the basins and hillsides of the land would be covered with enough soil to support vegetation. 

Indeed, the Wraith knew from her travels that this would be happening very soon. The people who came from across the galaxy would feed the DNA of grasses, flowers, and tubers native to the planets from which they had come to the life-bringing pools, just as they had given of their own. These species would also be transformed, to survive and thrive in the harsh conditions of Demon. The acidic pools of liquid which would form the waters of the land would nourish them to astonishing growth, until the basins and hillsides would be clothed in beauty, the beauty of life.

Most of the explorers from across the galaxy, the Voyagers, would not see this transmogrified landscape as beautiful, should they ever return. Oh, some of them might. Certainly the Vulcans, who were used to the hot, dry desert panoramas of their home planet, would find loveliness. A few who came from colonies or civilizations on marginal worlds might also, but Demon would never teem with life the way some habitats do.

To the eyes of the clones, who preferred to be called colonists, Demon would soon be blooming. Even the most ambivalent of them would be thankful that their template had permitted his or her DNA to be reproduced and adapted for this new land. This would be home from now on. They were the ancestors of a new race. 

The Wraith, hovering high over the landscape, opened her perceptions to the thoughts of some of those colonists. The established couples, their search for home finally come to an end, were already settling down into a blissful domesticity. Passionately, in the case of some. The Wraith longed for lips to turn up into a smile as she realized what Paris and Torres were doing on this first night in their new home. Not exactly unexpected, especially when the eagerness of the planet's sentience for the establishment of a native populace was considered. 

Thanks to this influence, even some of the newly minted couples were comforting themselves in that most fundamental of humanoid ways, despite the newness of their unions. Wildman and Carey confirmed what had been an open secret and settled down to make a home with Naomi. Ayala and Nicoletti had surprised everyone when they declared their intentions to unite. No one had known of the secret passion Nicoletti had felt for Ayala except the man himself. He'd reluctantly held himself back from her as long as there had been a chance to reunite with his wife and sons. Once the clone of Ayala had no hope of return, he'd gladly returned Susan's affections.

And Kathryn and Chakotay finally ceased their courtship dance, taking hold of the destiny they'd denied themselves for two years. The simmering tensions that had been briefly relieved on New Earth, only to be renewed more painfully upon the pair's return to their positions on Voyager, could only be satisfactorily resolved in one way. Why wait, when time was such a precious commodity, especially for corporeal beings already fated for short lifespans?

The Wraith knew just how precious time was--far too precious a thing to waste. She had learned that the hard way, when her promised nine years in a humanoid body had turned out to be only four. She herself had been transformed long before her time. 

Her sorrow was great when she'd first been forced to leave all that she knew. Despite the wonderful things her Ocampan spirit was now capable of doing, she missed those she'd loved on Voyager. She'd stayed close for a while, as she'd promised Harry, ready to help when she could, although she'd been relegated to the role of bystander.

After a time of mostly watching, she realized something that her father, her guide, may never have fully grasped, possibly because of the limitations his Ocampan corporeal lifetime had imposed upon his imagination. The explorer daughter had been exposed to so much more that she perceived something wonderful. Time was not linear for her. She could go anywhere, anywhen, yet come back to the exact split second at which she'd left any time, without missing anything of the lives she supervised. So she did.

She traveled back in time to see her parents in their prime. She saw Neelix as a young man and saw his beloved, long-lost family. She flew off to Earth and saw the world she always had known she wouldn't live to see with corporeal eyes, visiting the in-laws she would never be able to meet. She flitted around the galaxy, exploring the dimension she had always lived in, as well as those she had not. The past and the future were all the same as the present to her. Like a Q, she flowed from one reality to another. 

Yet, always, she returned to the Voyager she knew and to those she loved, never leaving her Harry alone at a critical juncture. 

In her powerful new formless state, she could do things to help them. When a transwarp experiment went badly, she made sure that Voyager was thrown clear, ten years closer to home and well out of Borg space. She helped Voyager hold together when the Hirogen Array exploded. She pushed the vessel forward to outrun the damage to subspace when Omega deconstructed it for parsecs. In a dozen little ways, she made differences in the way power was utilized so that Voyager, on the verge of ruin, would stay together long enough to resolve its problem and continue its journey home. 

If the time she experienced this could be sensed by those restricted to linear time, the equivalent of several centuries of consciousness passed as she explored farther and farther afield, especially into the future. It was exciting, but wearying to the soul, too. She could understand why the Q had become, in their immortality, so jaded; but the Wraith wasn't a Q. She learned a bitter truth: while she could go anywhere and anywhen and could funnel energy to help those she wished to aid, there was one thing she couldn't do. She couldn't make them hear her.

All of her formidable mental powers, her telepathy, could not bridge the gap between her reality and Harry's. Oh, if she wished, she might have been able to manipulate a computer to leave him a message, perhaps. "Hi, Love, it's me!" What good was that? She longed to hold him, to feel him, to share thoughts with him the way she used to. She could not . . . unless . . .

She could become like Tieran. She could become a possessor, one of those who takes over another's mind and body. Having had it done to her, she refused to even consider being such a one herself, for a very long time. 

In this state, however, time was what she had too much of. Eventually, her scruples broke down in the face of a disturbing discovery. In all of her travels, one thing she found upset her beyond measure, one thing which made her want to stop her wanderings and simply experience life--and to help those she'd loved on Voyager.

In all the dimensions, in all the times, Voyager rarely made it home. Sometimes the Kazon, despite their blundering, were marshaled by Seska sufficiently enough to maroon the crew on Hanon IV. The Vidiians successfully caught up to Voyager and turned the crew into spare parts in others. The ship was blown up by the captain to save an alternate universe Voyager in still another (and she remembered that incident vividly from her own lifetime). The Voth imprisoned the crew forever in one scenario. The crew had to abandon a fatally crippled Voyager to settle a new world they called Aurora in yet another. In others the entire crew was stranded in the Habitat for generations; destroyed or transformed out of all resemblance to reality by the Krenim; all killed (except for a sorrowful Chakotay and a heart-rendingly embittered Harry) during an experiment with an exotic technology when Voyager crashed onto a world of ice. Sometimes they were all assimilated by the Borg; eradicated by Species 8472; hijacked by thieves; wiped out in the Omega particle explosion; irradiated into a ghost ship in an insidious nebula; made into trophies of the hunt by the Hirogen. Time and time again Voyager was lost, sometimes simply because it ran out of power before reaching a safe haven. 

As many times as she searched the futures, the results were depressingly the same. In only a handful of time streams did Voyager have even a chance at making it home.

One thing was common to all the dimensions where Voyager survived. Each time, Voyager had made a stop on a desolate, seemingly insignificant world, antithetical to the body chemistry of the dwellers on the vessel. There, abundant deuterium was found, enough to power the ship through its upcoming journey through a deadly nebula, enough to risk entering a dark place for a trip that was anticipated to last for a couple of years. In each of those dimensions where Voyager succeeded in getting home, a colony of clones was left behind on this grim planet, created from the DNA of Voyager's inhabitants, transformed so that they could subsist on this new world. 

When the Wraith examined these time streams closely, she recognized the agent that had permitted this miraculous transformation.

The Wraith.

Her presence was not necessary to enable the proto-sentient goo of the planet to turn itself into bodies. The minds, however, needed an extra push, so that the memories and personalities of the templates could be transferred perfectly to the new beings, making them exact duplicates mentally, although their bodies bore the new, adapted body chemistry. 

The goo could transform matter, but it couldn't capture thought. The powers of the Wraith could, however, ferrying a duplicate set of memories and personality to each clone, to animate them with what could only be described as a soul.

After this pivotal event, the creation of a new civilization on Demon, multiple realities branched off, as was inevitable, but the Wraith saw that in every time stream in which Voyager made it home to Earth, this had occurred: new life on Demon was traded for the power for Voyager to survive and continue its journey successfully.

It was no surprise to the Wraith that the crew would be so generous with the very essence of their selves. In her time on Voyager, she had learned of this generosity. For her to be the agent of their continued existence was a blessing to her, even if it were a cruel irony. She could not communicate to the ones she loved, even though she could help duplicate their minds and save their lives.

She did what needed to be done, in each of those time streams, creating the new colony from her own will and the goo fed with specks of blood from the crew of Voyager. She ferried the souls of the crew to the clones. Since time itself was no barrier to her, she slipped back to capture the spirits of Kaplan, Stadi, Jetal, Durst and Bendera, so that they truly were resurrected, even though no one ever discovered how that could be. Only T'Pera was not transferred, for the Wraith discovered that the young Vulcan woman preferred to assume the mind and memories of the one whose katra was imprinted on her. It was illogical for two beings to inhabit one body, T'Pera believed.

Finally, when there was only one reality more to be created, the Wraith knew her own journey was nearly over. She would not be the shepherdess of Voyager's trek any longer. Her soul was too weary to travel further on. She wanted to rest. She understood, finally, why her people eventually ended their non-corporeal lives to find the peace of joining with infinity, as other races do.

It is frustrating to have such power, yet, ultimately, to be merely a voyeur.

The Wraith wanted peace, but first, she wanted to recapture a measure of the life which the Krenim's attack and her living backwards through time had cheated her from living. Before she willingly consigned her spirit to oblivion, she wanted to have a life. 

The Wraith had the power to do this, but only by sharing another's body. She was sure she could do it without becoming a Tieran. She could fold herself into another, live and feel and touch and experience what the other did, but as a silent partner. What T'Pera spurned, the Wraith did not.

Her first impulse, of course, was to tuck her Self away into a corner of one organ of her beloved, to be held literally within his heart. She dismissed that notion, however, for she'd learned something about the many possible futures she visited. In many of the realities in which Voyager survived, one woman on the ship had become to Harry what Kes once had been. His wife. This woman was not an obvious choice, many thought, yet as the Wraith watched all those futures unfold, she found herself wondering why Seven and Harry did not join in every one of them. They turned out to be well suited to each other, in so many ways. On Demon, they did end up together. Every time.

For this to happen, of course, Seven of Nine could not be Borg. For the being who could throw Voyager ten years journey forward to prevent a terrible accident, making sure no nanoprobes entered a certain vial of blood was no great task.

So, the Wraith made a critical decision. She would keep her promise to Harry and continue to watch over him, but not in every timeline. She'd done enough by giving all those other Voyagers the chance to survive by helping them on Demon. On Demon, therefore, the Wraith would stay, tucked into the body and mind of another, yet feeling the love and happiness that had been denied her in her own corporeal life. Guarding one form of Harry, she would wish the rest a long and happy life.

There were many dangers for those on Voyager without her, yet even with her, there was little she could do more often than not. She could foresee some of the tragedies that might come, yet there were triumphs ahead, as well. It was up to each member of the crew, when each choice was made, to decide what fate would come--which splinter of reality would become his or her own.

On Demon, the Wraith knew there would be an Andrew Kim, held in the arms of his mother and her silent partner. He would be the son of Harry, but not of Linnis Kim. Linnis Paris still would become Linnis Kim, but she would be Andrew Kim's wife, not his mother. As Kes had once speculated to Harry, like a stream split apart by rocks and reforming below the rapids, time would heal itself in this way, on Demon. 

The joined souls of the Wraith and Seven of Nine, who from this time forward would be known as Annika Kim, would be impregnated with the seed of life by Harry Kim. Annika would bear his children and feel the tug of progeny suckling at her breast. Annika and Harry would watch over them, guide them as they grew into adulthood, living the span of life of humans, not the short ones of the Ocampa. The Wraith told herself it was probably better this way. With their time less limited, the wondrous gifts of intellect and invention they would inherit from their parents would contribute to the building of the new civilization, just as Annika and Harry had before them.

And finally, when it was time for Annika Kim to close her eyes for the last time, surrounded by her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, the Wraith would accompany Seven's soul on that last great journey into the mystery of infinity. No more roaming, for either of them.

All of these wondrous events would take place, but not quite yet. Tomorrow she would see to the imprinting of the mentalities of the colonists onto their own duplicates, on the other side of the planet. This second group of clones/colonists would enrich that other side of Demon with their presence, increasing the probability that the colonized planet would thrive and grow with maximum genetic diversity, as was destined. A few last things must be accomplished, final tasks had to be performed, and then the Wraith could slip permanently into her new role as the silent partner in the life of Seven of Nine, and to partake of the lifetime of love she could never know any other way.

But that was for tomorrow. For now, the gentle yet strong spirit that had once been called Kes would settle back into the body of Annika for the rest of the night, to enjoy being held again in the arms of her beloved. Their beloved? 

Kes did not care what the proper terminology might be. She was happy to share.

=^=

In her sleep, the newly deflowered Annika Hansen stirred briefly. Shifting her weight to be held more snugly within the warm, encircling arms of her husband-to-be, Harry Kim, she breathed out an audible sigh of contentment. 

And smiled.

 

=/\=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Devil's Own": Based upon the Star Trek: Voyager episode "Demon," teleplay by Kenneth Biller from a story by Andre Bormanis. "The Devil's Own" was written prior to the airing of "Course: Oblivion." While the eventual fate of the Voyager clones in that episode is quite different from that of the "colonists" on Demon, who clearly established a permanent civilization, "Course: Oblivion" and this story are not necessarily mutually exclusive. "The Devil's Own" establishes two settlement of Voyager "colonists" who were provided with very clear and individual memories by the Wraith, who then stops her roaming to share life with one of the clones. Perhaps that proto-intelligent goo develops a bit of arrogance (if a planetoid is capable of such) when the colonies seem so successful, creating still another set of Voyager copies without the assistance of the Wraith. Providing that group with its own Voyager to explore the galaxy, they are the ones who meet their destiny in "Course: Oblivion." In this universe, the episode "Fury" obviously did not take place in the way it did in the series. 
> 
> The quote from "Romeo and Juliet" is from Act III, Scene V, lines 12-24.
> 
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


	8. Clap Hands

**Clap Hands**

 

Black. Black as night—no, blacker than night. Not a star, not a wisp of gas, not a chunk of rock--nothing could be seen on the view screen display, in any direction. The word "darkness" could not come close to adequately describing the emptiness, which the crew had decided to christen the Void. That name, unfortunately, fit. The only thing the Void was filled with was, apparently, an overabundance of theta radiation. As to the source of the radiation, that was basically a void as well. No one knew where it came from. It was just there.

They had to travel through it. There was no help for it. The region lay directly in their path homeward; too big to go around without adding at least four years to their journey, and that, according to Captain Kathryn Janeway, was "simply unacceptable." As it was, from the information they'd received from long range scans, as well as that gathered from scientists on the last world Voyager visited prior to entering the Void, the trip would take about two years if they went straight through. Chakotay only hoped they would all survive until they could arrive at the other side.

Chakotay glanced around him. Only half the normal staff were on bridge duty. All Engineering tasks were handled from Engineering. Astrometrics, Operations, and other science labs were operational, but there was no current need for representatives of those disciplines to appear on the bridge. They did their work in their labs, using the minimal amount of power necessary to complete their projects. They had quite literally stocked up on power before leaving what Chakotay now thought of as the "visible" part of the Delta Quadrant. Every possible storage device for power sources had been filled to maximum capacity at their last planetary port of call. Unless something terrible lurked within the Void, their power should hold out throughout the journey. If only they could have loaded up on some sort of power source to prevent boredom!

It did not help that the Void, in and of itself, was a depressing place to be. That final port of call had turned out to be disastrous for the crew, particularly for two members of the senior staff. Those events had smothered much of the optimism the crew had developed after finally leaving the primary hunting area of the Hirogen.

That last planet had been beautiful. The Mynteran leaders had offered Shore Leave to the travelers who were about to submerge themselves within the Void. The captain had been assured by the Prime Administrator that Voyager's crew was very welcome to enjoy all the pleasures the planet could offer, while their merchants supplied them with all of the supplies they would need for their trip. What could possibly go wrong?

=/\=

"Now, Tom and B'Elanna, let me assure you I would be delighted to care for our lovely little Linnis. You haven't had a chance for Shore Leave or any sort of vacation since Linnis' birth, outside of the Holodeck, of course, and I don't think that counts. Why don't you take a nice little 'second honeymoon?'"

"Neelix, thanks so much for the offer, but you know, we really want to spend this time together. Linnis has never been on an actual planet before. It's time to see how she does in a new environment, with real gravity. She's getting to be so much fun around now, I guess I don't want her to miss out on seeing the sites, either" Tom Paris said.

"And this resort we're booked into is supposed to be one of the best they have on the planet! I'd like to compare it to the one you set up on the Holodeck for all of us," B'Elanna added, as she folded a small sun suit and inserted it into Linnis' bag.

"Oh, I do understand, but you know, when they said it was reserved for off-worlders, I kind of wondered why. Who knows if it's really as good as they're telling you it is? Maybe that hotel is reserved for off-worlders because the in-worlders know it isn't all it's cracked up to be!"

"The pictures in the advertising brochure they sent up sure make it look nice. And if it's not, we can always come back early, Neelix, and set up for a bit of fun at your Holodeck resort. And then you can come in and join us!" Tom patted the Talaxian on the shoulder, giving him a kindly smile. "Or you could come on down with us, you know. We'd love to have you."

Tom ignored the growl issuing from his wife's direction. Neelix, wisely, did not.

"Oh, that's okay. I already did the mountain retreat resort with Samantha and Naomi last week, so I really shouldn't go off gallivanting on a second Shore Leave when everyone else is restricted to one. You'll have Harry and Seven along, too, to help out if you want a little private time for just the two of you. I shouldn't be greedy, even if I do so enjoy time spent with your little one."

B'Elanna came over to Neelix and patted him on the arm. "Thank you so much for understanding, Neelix."

"Well, I guess I'd better leave you two to your packing, but before I go, may I say 'Bon Voyage' to our littlest Voyager?"

"As long as you don't wake her up!" B'Elanna replied.

Neelix tiptoed into the second bedroom alcove, where Linnis lay napping in her crib. "Bye, bye, little one. Have fun on your trip!" Neelix whispered. He waved his hand over her head, but rather than stroking it, as he usually did when she was awake, he gently patted her on her chunky little leg. 

After he'd left, B'Elanna turned on her husband. "What did you mean by Neelix 'coming with us!'" she hissed.

"Please, B'Elanna! I wasn't going to offer that he stay in our room! I've got plans for that room, and they don't include a Talaxian observer! I mean, Harry and Seven each have their own accommodations." His tone changed to the wheedling one that always seemed to convince her to do whatever it was that he wanted to do. "Isn't it bad enough we'll have to tone things down a bit if Linnis' crib isn't separate enough from our bed area? Like Neelix said, we're going to be wanting a little 'private time.' He understands, Be.'"

B'Elanna calmed down visibly and smiled at him. "Okay, Flyboy, you've made your point."

Tom swept his wife into his arms and gave her a warm hug. "This is going to be great! I can't wait!"

=/\=

The hotel was every bit as beautiful as the advertisements had trumpeted it would be. The staff was attentive. When Harry and Seven requested that their rooms should be near that of their ship mates', the concierge quickly switched reservations for another group of travelers so that the Voyager crew members' rooms were directly across the hall from each other's. Trips to the favorite tourist sites in the area were arranged and took place without a hitch, although there was a bit of a drive each time to get to the resort's substantial gate in the complex's wall, which separated it from the rest of the "prime vacation spot on Myntera." The beach area of the resort was also extremely private. They bathed in pleasantly warm waters, enjoying surf that was a little too calm for Tom's taste, but perfect for Linnis, in B'Elanna's opinion. 

And the food! The on-site restaurants served such delicious meals, B'Elanna asked if some of the dishes could be sent up to Voyager, to be programmed into their replicators. The chef was extremely flattered and sent samples up to the ship without any further urging. The food and drink service in general was efficient enough that even Seven allowed it to be "impressive." All in all, the first three days and two nights of their stay were everything Tom and B'Elanna had hoped for, perhaps even better than they'd anticipated.

The last night was not.

=/\=

"Hey, Linnis, aren't you getting a teensy bit tired?"

His daughter grinned her still-toothless smile and laughed at her father. She could now sit on her own and flapped her hands up and down on her lap. 

"Do you want to play our game, Linnis?" Tom asked.

Linnis replied by raising her hands up. When Tom began to clap his hands, Linnis imitated her father, chortling with every contact one hand made with the other.

"Look at you! What a smart baby you are! I'll bet you're going to be a chief engineer someday, just like your Mommy."

"I hope she doesn't end up chief on Voyager, still in the Delta Quadrant," B'Elanna sniffed.

"Nah, the captain's going to get us home way before that, isn't she? You're gonna go to Starfleet Academy in San Francisco, on Earth, if you want to, little lady!" Linnis clapped her hands so energetically at this that she toppled over backwards. Both of her parents laughed. When the baby started to whimper slightly, B'Elanna scooped her up off the bed and sat in the room's most comfortable chair to nurse her. 

Once the baby had settled into a steady sucking rhythm, which B'Elanna hoped would serve as her bedtime snack, she asked, "Tom do you really want her to go into Starfleet? After what you went through with your father?"

"Whatever she wants to be, that's what she'll be. If she doesn't want anything to do with space or Starfleet, that will be her choice, not mine. I guess I can think of a few things I'd rather she not be. . . some of the professions represented in Sandrines wouldn't be my first choice. . ." B'Elanna laughed as visions of the gigolo and Gaunt Gary the pool shark came to mind, then frowned as she thought about some of the other denizens of the tavern in Marseilles. B'Elanna didn't care all that much for the proprietress.

"Seriously, B'Elanna, I do hope we get home in time for Linnis to have more choices of profession than she does on Voyager, even if coming to the Delta Quadrant is the best thing that ever happened to me. I found you, and now to have Linnis. . . I'm just so grateful. I'm the happiest I have ever been in my entire life, B'Elanna. I'm sure glad I didn't miss this trip." 

Tom leaned over the chair and gave his wife a tender kiss on the brow, then bent a little lower to grace his daughter with an even more gentle buss on the top of her head. For the next several minutes Tom sat on the floor next to the chair, his left hand on his wife's knee, his right hand on his daughter's back, as B'Elanna nursed their child to sleep.

B'Elanna carefully laid her daughter down in the crib at the foot of the room's bed. It was a bit flimsy, in B'Elanna's opinion, but at least it had held up to her daughter's pushing around the mattress for the past two nights, It should hold up for the last night of their stay. The child did not stir when her mother rubbed circles in her back a few times, and B'Elanna gave a sigh of relief as she stood up and caught her husband's eye. 

He was already lying naked in bed. B'Elanna gave a very low growl and pounced on him. Tom growled softly back at her and dragged her over to his side of the bed. As they began to exercise their version of "private time," their exertions quickly became so enthusiastic, they tumbled to the floor next to the bed. The floor was lushly carpeted, and they were perfectly content to remain there, reaching the heights of satisfaction while lying at the lowest surface of the room. They fell asleep right there, without bothering to climb back into the bed.

When the explosion came, Tom and B'Elanna were sheltered from the blast under their window by the stout wall next to the corridor and the luxurious, sturdy wooden bed that was positioned between the couple and the windows.

Linnis, peacefully sleeping in her flimsy little crib in the center of the room, was not so fortunate.

=/\=

"Ensign Kim, I do not wish to remain in the Lounge any longer. Since we have completed my lessons in Social Interactions for the evening, I am ready to return to my room. We must arise early for our return to Voyager. I am already overdue for the commencement of my next regeneration cycle. It must begin within the next 12 hours."

"Of course, Seven," Harry replied with a sigh. Several rather attractive strangers had just settled themselves next to the bar, but he had promised the captain he would keep an eye on Seven while she was on her first true Shore Leave. He also had to admit to himself that he was also tired by the whirlwind of touristy activities they had managed to cram into the past three days of their Shore Leave.

Waving to the concierge and the security guard stationed by the front door as they left the Lounge, Harry and Seven ascended the stairway to the second floor. They had just cleared the balcony overhanging the Lounge and had barely started down the hall towards their own rooms when the building was rocked by a massive explosion. Both were knocked off their feet. Chunks of ceiling panels cascaded down on them. Although the hallway and floor substructure had apparently been built well enough not to crumble from the force of the explosion, the floor now listed to the right.

As he coughed in the swirling dust of the hallway, Harry could hear screams from the front of the building, where the Lounge was located. Dim cries for help could be heard coming from the rooms on the right. Harry raised his head and found Seven lying next to him. He reached out to her and called her name.

She turned her head in his direction. "I am conscious, Ensign," she said, before coughing three times in quick succession.

Harry stood up and offered Seven his hand, which she accepted and pulled herself upright. The tilting of the floor was more noticeable once they were on their feet. Harry leaned to the left, to the side of the hallway that was apparently less affected by the explosion, and Seven followed his lead. Together, they picked their way through the debris on the floor until they reached the door to Tom and B'Elanna's room. The door had buckled in its frame, and no matter how hard Harry and Seven pushed, it would not open. As they worked at the door, Harry called out, "Tom, B'Elanna, are you okay in there?" 

There was no response. Seven, listening intently, finally said, "Ensign Kim, the child is not crying, and the noises coming from this side of the building indicate it may collapse at any moment. We must extricate the family from the premises."

"You're right, Seven. Frantically tapping his Comm badge, Harry shouted, "Kim to Voyager! Emergency! Five to beam up to Sick Bay!"

=/\=

The Doctor's program was active that night. Despite his very specific warnings against certain non-syntheholic drinks he had learned were available in the night spots listed on some crew members' itineraries, several of them had overindulged in various exotic beverages while sampling the delights of Myntera. The EMH had set himself the task of replicating replacement supplies of his standard hangover remedies when he received notice of an emergency beam out to Sickbay. He immediately went into triage mode as five figures materialized.

Two were standing up right, and from a quick glance, the EMH could tell they could wait for evaluation. The other three were prone. The Doctor was distressed to see that the littlest member of Voyager's crew complement was one of them. He rushed to her side.

Whenever the EMH was in treatment mode, his programming prevented him from overt expressions of emotion. Despite this, at the sight of little Linnis Paris, the Doctor could barely control himself. While he evaluated the child with his tricorder according to standard protocols, he recognized the child's true medical status immediately. Carefully picking up the blanket folded at the foot of the treatment bed, the EMH gently draped it over the tiny form.

The Doctor heard Harry cry out wordlessly, while from behind him, Linnis' father called out weakly, "Doc, how is she? Why isn't she crying?"

The Doctor turned to his Field Medic. He did not have to say anything before Lieutenant Paris cried out in anguish. He also knew. Little Linnis Paris had breathed her last. 

=/\=

"How could you possibly conceal something so horrendous as this from us! We trusted you! You promised us a 'superior time' on your planet!" Captain Janeway's rage was so poorly contained, her first officer reached out and grabbed her arm to prevent her from running towards the view screen.

"I am so sorry, Captain. The insurrectionists had been quiet lately--no incidents for over a year. We thought the isolationist movement had lost its momentum. Our trade with other warp-capable worlds and representative ships such as your own have brought a great deal of prosperity to so many of us. . . It never occurred to us they would choose to make another 'statement' now. The security staff at the hotel were vigilant, we assure you. . . but one of the terrorists managed to get himself employed by the hotel, and . . . well, you know the rest."

"Have you caught the ones responsible?" she said savagely.

"The one on the staff was killed in the explosion, by his own choice, apparently, so we could not question him. We are actively searching for the others who must be involved, but it will take some time. They're so hard to catch. They must hide in plain sight. I'm sure you will want to leave orbit before we are able to locate any of more of them, but if you wish to help us in any way, we would welcome it. I can't thank you enough for the help you've already given us, Captain. You helped save many lives when you located the survivors and transported them out of the wreckage, to where we could provide them with medical care." The Prime Administrator paused briefly, then added, "And the families of those who were killed are grateful you retrieved the remains. Our own rescuers may have been injured, too, without your assistance. I only wish we could have saved your lost . . . crew member." 

"We will be leaving orbit within the hour, Prime Administrator. Tuvok, please send the Mynteran authorities copies of our security scans and any other pertinent information that may help them in their investigation. Perhaps their people can get somewhere with it." The captain wearily took her seat, her rage spent. Nothing was going to change. They would have to leave the Myntera system and enter the Void without learning if the responsible parties were ever found and punished. The only one they could be sure about was the bomber who had died for his role in the crime.

The Prime Administrator thanked them for the data Tuvok had sent them, apologizing profusely again as the transmission ended. Captain's final acknowledgement was limited to the briefest of nods.

=/\=

Five days after Voyager left the Myntera system, a solitary photon torpedo capsule was released, on a trajectory that would keep its course parallel to the huge, dark area of the Void. The desolate parents did not wish for the casket to enter that terrible darkness. Instead, the tiny capsule's surface would be lit by the reflected light of stars, highlighting it on its journey back in the direction from which Voyager had come. Linnis Paris was destined never to leave her birthplace, the Delta Quadrant. 

The funeral was attended by all but the skeleton crew necessary for monitoring essential systems. Captain Kathryn Janeway recited the words of the Starfleet burial service in a husky, almost monotone, voice. She left the eulogies to Chakotay, Harry Kim, and Tuvok. 

Naomi Wildman sat between her mother and Neelix throughout the service. Naomi had known others who had perished, but Linnis was the first person close to her who had died. She was taking it hard. So was Nanny, who stayed with the EMH in Sickbay, watching the service via the Comm system. The EMH comforted the HHT, silently reflecting upon the lessons he had learned about loss from his family program. He decided he would bring Nanny to that program after the service. They would have their own wake while the rest of the crew was having theirs in the Mess Hall.

The captain came to the Mess Hall briefly, speaking only to Tom and B'Elanna, before excusing herself and returning to her own quarters. 

As the wake was starting to wind down, Neelix approached Chakotay. "Commander, I don't understand why Seven didn't use the techniques she used to save me when I was killed in that nebula."

"She tried, Neelix. Harry begged her to try, even though she and the Doctor knew it wasn't going to work, they did try. And it didn't work."

"How did they know it wouldn't?"

Chakotay gestured to the Talaxian to come back to the kitchen, to speak with him privately. The first officer did not wish anyone else to hear what he was about to share with Neelix.

"The baby's neural passageways were too damaged by the explosion, Neelix. Your death had been less traumatic, so yours were intact. Seven's nanoprobes could repair the danger to your biological tissues."

"So there was nothing they could do?"

"They transported the baby's body and then reassembled it from the transporter buffer, using the data from when she went down to the planet with her parents. But three days had passed, and for a baby of Linnis' age, a lot of growth happens quickly, even though it's at a level we can't see. There were many microcellular changes from her growth in the days after she went down to the planet. A sort of dissonance developed between the pattern that was in the buffer from when she went down to the planet and the last one, when she came back up. After the attempt, Linnis looked like she had been healed, but it was only a cosmetic change. Seven tried to bring her back with her nanoprobes anyway, but it was already a lost cause."

"I understand. Is that one reason we waited five days for the funeral? It wasn't only for Tom and B'Elanna to recover enough from their injuries so they could attend?"

"Yes. We wanted to make sure the nanoprobes had failed to heal her before we buried her."

Neelix sighed deeply. "If only I could have kept her up here on Voyager with me, like I offered!"

Chakotay gently grabbed Neelix by the shoulder. "Neelix, two of the most awful words in Federation Standard are 'if only.' There are so many things we would do differently if we knew what the ultimate outcome would be. Please don't say those words to Tom and B'Elanna. I'm sure they're going to remember your offer as it is. They couldn't have known. Believe me, Neelix, if the Prime Administrator of Myntera had told us anything about this rebellion, which has been going on for years, we would never have allowed anyone Shore Leave. I'm sure that administrator is saying 'if only' right now, if he has any sort of conscience at all."

"I appreciate you letting me know this, Commander."

"I knew I would have to tell you. And Neelix, the reason we're in here talking about this is that I don't want anyone else on the crew to know about it. Starfleet doctors have tried to use the transporter to bring someone back from the dead before, back home in the Alpha Quadrant. To my knowledge it's never been done successfully, although they haven't had a former Borg around who could use that nanoprobes technique. Maybe if very specific circumstances occur in the future, we might try to save an adult on the crew who has just died, to see if we can make it work then. But I don't want to get the crew's hopes up. Understood?"

"Absolutely, Commander. I won't tell a soul. I guess you've mentioned this to Mr. Kim and Seven, too?"

"I have."

"Well, thank you again. I think I need to go out and circulate a bit out there in the crowd. It's a sad day, and even a very competent Morale Officer like myself can only do so much. But I'll do my best."

"You always do, Neelix," the commander said with a smile.

Chakotay stayed in the cooking area for a few moments, thinking about their discussion. Of course, Tom and B'Elanna also knew about the experimental treatment; they'd had to endorse it. At least they knew the EMH, Harry and Seven had tried everything to save their daughter, but he doubted they had received much comfort from this knowledge. He guessed Tom and B'Elanna were regretting their decision to bring the baby to the planet, too. Hindsight: always Twenty/Twenty.

When he finally went back to the Mess Hall, the first officer looked around until he found the bereaved parents. They were sitting side by side on a bench in the far corner of the room, but he noticed their bodies did not seem to be touching. Ayala and Lang were speaking with them; perhaps it was more accurate to say they were speaking to them. Tom was nodding slightly, as if he were listening to what his fellow bridge officers were saying, but from the glazed look in Tom's eyes, Chakotay doubted he really heard anything. He was basically flying on autopilot.

Chakotay understood. Tom had undoubtedly been hearing the same words of condolence over and over again at the wake.

What really disturbed Chakotay was the look on B'Elanna's face. Her eyes weren't glazed over, they were expressionless, almost dead. 

Chakotay approached them, to rescue them from the kindness of their crew mates, although no amount of kindness could bring back what an act of terrorism had stolen away. The transport buffer could reconstitute the body of the child so that she looked like the Linnis who had beamed down to the planet, but there was no way to reclaim her soul, crushed out of her tiny body by a vile act. What the parents needed now was time, time to heal, not just from physical wounds, but also of the heart. They would never completely escape the ache of their loss. Chakotay only hoped they could discover a way to live with that pain and find happiness once again.

=/\=

When the captain had left Linnis' wake to hide herself in her quarters, Chakotay had not realized this behavior would become the norm for Kathryn Janeway over the next several weeks. In fact, the captain had not left her quarters in almost two months. 

After several crew members came to him, concerned about not seeing the captain for an extended period, the commander consulted with Tuvok, who had known the captain for the longest time of any of the crew on Voyager. 

"I believe the captain is depressed. She is experiencing a great deal of guilt for stranding this crew in the Delta Quadrant."

"But that happened four years ago! Did she tell you this, Tuvok?"

"Not directly, Commander, but I have observed her over many years. I hypothesize she has felt this guilt for our entire time in this quadrant. Circumstances over the past few years have prevented her from excessively contemplating the ramifications of this decision. Our need for constant vigilance as we traveled through the quadrant has limited the time she has had available to dwell upon it. There has always been another discovery, or sometimes, the latest crisis, to which she must attend. Here in the Void, however, there has been quite literally nothing to distract her. Add to that her grief over the recent death of Linnis Paris, and there is ample reason for her depression to deepen."

"Has this ever happened to her before?" 

"It has. During her first command, several crewmen were injured during a science mission. The captain herself went back to complete the task rather than put anyone else in harm's way. For several weeks afterwards, I was aware of a change in her mood. It improved only after several other missions ended successfully, without any crew members suffering injury."

"Any ideas about how to bring her out of it now, Tuvok?"

"You could try to confront her with what we suspect, but I do not know if that would be successful. A better plan might be to present her with some sort of problem or project needing her expertise. Perhaps that would encourage her to think about something other than herself."

"You know, for a while now, Paris has been trying to talk us into building a new shuttle more suited to Delta Quadrant conditions. Something larger and more strongly built than the Class 2 design type that we brought with us from the Alpha Quadrant."

"I would have to agree with his assessment. I also believe we are well-supplied with the raw materials needed to build shuttles at the moment. A new design would be extremely helpful and much more efficient, if it meant the shuttles would last longer and require replacement less often. Ensign Myers, in particular, would be pleased, since it is her responsibility to keep us supplied with the shuttles we require. As long as the amount of power expended in the construction is not excessive, such a project could be of benefit to the entire crew—particularly to Lieutenants Torres and Paris."

Chakotay tilted his eyebrow in imitation of Tuvok's expression. "You've noticed, too."

"They appear to spend little time with each other since their loss. Both use the Holodecks extensively, but they never seem to be engaging in the same simulation at the same time. And, since Mr. Paris has been splitting his time between his new 'Captain Proton' and his older 'Grease Monkey' programs, building a real working shuttle instead of playing make-believe spacemen or fixing holographic cars should be a better use of his time."

Chakotay sighed. Captain Proton was pure fantasy, and several crew members, including Harry Kim, had told Chakotay it was a "fun time." He wasn't very familiar with that Grease Monkey program, but it wasn't much of a stretch to think that Tom was burying himself in car repairs to sublimate his guilt over being unable to fix his little girl. "Do you know what programs B'Elanna has been visiting?"

"No, Commander, but I have heard disturbing news from Mr. Neelix, something he overheard one night in the Mess Hall."

"What was it?"

"It occurred during the early morning hours. Apparently they were in the mess hall because they both were suffering from insomnia. While the two lieutenants were arguing, Neelix overheard Lieutenant Paris say that Lieutenant Torres only seemed to be interested in activities involving 'pain sticks.'"

"She must be doing those Klingon programs Paris programmed for her, then. He only has himself to blame if she's using them excessively, and without him. Keep your ears to the ground, Tuvok, and let me know if you hear anything else you think I should know. From what you've told me, however, building this new shuttle may be just what the doctor ordered, for the captain as well as Tom and B'Elanna."

"I will do as you ask, Commander, and 'keep my ears on the ground,' although I must point out that Vulcan ears are far more efficient when elevated."

Chakotay smiled broadly. "Duly noted, Mr. Tuvok. Thanks for your input. Dismissed." 

As he walked to the captain's quarters to present the plan for the shuttle project to her for approval, Chakotay wryly noted that nothing bespoke more of the boredom inherent in traversing the Void than the fact that Tuvok's weak joke about his ears was the best one the first officer had heard all week.

=/\=

Tom's throw-away line about pain sticks was not a joke. 

The pair no longer spent much time together. While they often worked the same shifts now, since they no longer had to stagger their work hours to provide care for a child, B'Elanna went her own way off duty and never asked Tom to accompany her when she went to the Holodeck. When he asked her to join him in one of his adventures, she was always "too busy." 

They still lived in the same quarters they'd shared with their daughter, but the second bedroom was now completely barren. All of the baby's possessions had been packed away by Harry and Seven and put into storage. Tom hated to approach the doorway, let alone enter; his memories of happy hours spent in that room were too painful for him. While the failed experiment using the transporter and Seven's nanoprobes had prevented Tom from seeing his daughter's broken body, when he was alone in bed, his active imagination conjured up visions of what she might have looked like despite his earnest efforts to think about something else--anything else. Bad dreams assailed him. Whenever either occurred, sleep was elusive for the rest of the night. 

Tom had no idea whether or not his wife was haunted by similar dreams and visions. He could not share this with B'Elanna, as she refused to discuss it whenever he broached the subject of their loss. In fact, she often didn't speak with him even when he directly addressed her about any subject at all, no matter how innocent the conversation might be. Her mind seemed off in the ether somewhere, in a place he could not reach.

Sometimes, they had sexual encounters, but to call what they did "making love" was impossible, almost farcical. Tom would welcome a quiet expression of their feelings. He longed simply to hold her, letting her talk to him only if she wished, but B'Elanna usually lay in bed stiffly, as if she didn't even want him to touch her. When B'Elanna was open to love making, she only wanted to do it Klingon-style, begging Tom to take her roughly to such an extreme that he often was glad when she expressed no interest. He disliked having to use a dermal regenerator on his wife, even if the activities that had produced the need to use the instrument had been done at her specific request. After a while, he refused to even allow a pain stick into their quarters.

Tom was well aware that his own usual coping method, humor, was now noticeably lacking. The only exception was when he took on the role of Captain Proton. The program, based upon old black and white 2-D movie serials from the early twentieth century, was so absurd he could lose himself in its fantasy. All the dialogue was, frankly, hysterical, and while he was in the program, Tom was as cheery as he used to be—until his Holodeck time expired, and he was forced to return to his regular life.

While on duty Tom did what he had to do, but no more, in his role as chief helmsman, and never with his usual verve. Even flying could not bring Tom joy because of the conditions in the Void. There were no flying missions. Helm duty meant maintaining course and speed, and trying to remain alert while staring at unvarying instrumentation and a view screen that was, basically, blank. 

His Field Medic duties were another story. He hated going to Sickbay to study with the Doctor. While initially very sympathetic, recognizing the pain Mr. Paris must be feeling whenever he entered the place where his daughter's death had been confirmed, the Doctor was losing patience with him now that this avoidance had been going on for weeks. The EMH's aggravation was only expressed once, to date, when Tom had run over histime in the Captain Proton program, preventing the EMH from practicing an aria in the company of the hologram of a famous opera singer. If Tom's behavior did not improve soon, Tom knew the Doctor would go to the captain—or to Chakotay, since he seemed to be the only one of the command staff around anymore.

At this point, Tom wasn't sure he wouldn't welcome an official reprimand. At least it would be something different to feel bad about.

=/\=

Tom would have felt even worse if he knew how B'Elanna's Holodeck addiction was being exercised. She went back time and time again to the most dangerous programs she could find, with the safeties switched off. As a result, B'Elanna frequently used their dermal regenerator in secret. She had also "liberated" an osteoregenerator from storage and used it on herself whenever she discovered she'd broken a bone. She took the greatest risks when Tom was on duty, healing herself before Tom could find out what had happened to her. If he had seen her while she was in one of her programs, he would have been dumbfounded, for the expression on her face was, essentially, no expression at all.

=/\=

The senior staff had finally assembled in the conference room. B'Elanna, usually five minutes early for every meeting, was three minutes late. Clearing his throat, the First Officer informed his staff, "I've met with the captain. She wishes to send her greetings to the crew."

"It would be very much appreciated by the crew if she came to tell us that in person," Neelix said softly.

"I'm sure, Neelix. However, she said she has complete confidence in all our crewmen to complete their tasks without her guidance, given their current routine nature. She assures us that if her presence is needed on the bridge, she will be there."

Murmurs of approval, or possibly relief, echoed around the table, although he heard nothing from B'Elanna. Chakotay noted Tuvok's steepled fingers and furrowed brow. It was as good as an "I told you so." Tom's gaze was fixed over Chakotay's head, where the bleak emptiness of the Void could be confirmed by the view through the window to the first officer's back.

When everyone was again silent, Chakotay asked for systems reports. Except for a minor variation in readings from the Ops station, there were no issues. Chakotay asked Harry to run a diagnostic to see if he could identify the cause of the variation, to which Harry eagerly assented. Something to investigate! Finally!

Chakotay continued, "I asked the captain about something else, an assignment of some kind, since we've got quite a bit of down time on our hands right now. Too much, I understand, from several complaints I've had about people overrunning their Holodeck programs into another's time. . ." Tom had the grace to look a little abashed. Chakotay turned towards the Helmsman. "Tom, you've been asking us about building a stronger shuttle for a while now . . ."

Tom almost leaped from his seat and rushed to the conference room computer display. "Yes, sir, I have, sir. I have right here the design for a new shuttle I call 'The Delta Flyer.'" Tom's fingers flew over the interface and called up spec drawings for a sleek, yet sturdy-looking vessel. As Tom happily babbled on about the features he wished to include in his new toy, Chakotay stole a look at B'Elanna. Her face was disturbingly blank, like her mind was still in Engineering while her body was in the conference room. At least, Chakotay hoped it was in Engineering and not out in the Void somewhere. At one point, when Tom asked B'Elanna a direct question about a possible glitch he had detected in the proposed propulsion system, B'Elanna stated her engineers would be able to work it out for him. Chakotay did not miss Tom's startled expression in the face of her bland response.

"You'd better make sure the prototype vessel is well-shielded against theta radiation, too, if we're going to give it a test flight during the next two years," Chakotay remarked, to draw attention away from Tom's sudden deflation.

"Yes, we'll have to do that," Tom replied. "You know, we could have this baby ready in about a week, if we work around the clock on it."

"I don't believe you'll need to work quite that hard on it, Tom. We probably won't be able to fly it much while we're in the Void anyway. Still, working on this project is a more constructive way of spending our time instead of limiting ourselves to Holodeck adventures. This new design will be something all of us can look forward to."

"Speaking of 'all' of us, has the captain expressed any interest in contributing to this project?" Tuvok inquired.

"When she approved the project, she said she had complete confidence in all of us to get the job done," Chakotay replied. The Vulcan's subtle nod and arched brow conveyed to Chakotay that he understood exactly what the first officer's careful phrasing meant to relay concerning the captain's current state of mind.

"Well, if no one wants to bring up anything else. . . " Chakotay looked around the table. No one said anything. Clearly, the only item of real interest had been Tom's proposal. "In that case, dismissed."

Tuvok lingered to speak with Chakotay, which the first officer had anticipated. He had not expected that B'Elanna would also remain seated after the others had left. The chief engineer was gazing in the direction of the Delta Flyer design that was still up on the display, but he doubted her eyes were focused upon it. Chakotay hoped she had stayed because she wished to speak with him. That hope was dashed, however, when she abruptly rose out of her chair, nodded to Tuvok, and left the conference room without even glancing in Chakotay's direction.

Tuvok had only one sentence for Chakotay. "At least one of the three seems enthusiastic, Commander."

Not exactly the percentage Chakotay had hoped for.

=/\=

Before the next two weeks were over, boredom with the Void was banished by several critical events. First, Voyager suffered a sudden loss of power, thereby discovering a race of beings indigenous to the Void who were being systematically poisoned by theta radiation. The source of the radiation was also discovered, in the form of a Malon toxic waste barge. Its owner Emck was making a lot of money dumping industrial waste into the Void, even though he knew the region was occupied by intelligent beings. When the crew of Voyager offered Emck the means to scrub theta radiation from the toxic waste in order to render it harmless, he refused to pass the technology on to the people of his home world. If he did, he'd be out of a job. He preferred to make money, even if he was inflicting an environmental disaster on others in the process.

Emck and his barge were eventually destroyed, but not before he led Voyager and the indigenous people to the vortex that had permitted the Malon to travel in and out of the Void from normal space in a matter of hours rather than years. After Malon threatened to destroy her ship by dumping toxic waste in quantities sufficient to overwhelm the ship's shields, the captain ordered the placement of photon torpedoes within the vortex. The resulting explosion destroyed the passage into the Void, but by riding the shockwave created by the explosions, Voyager managed to escape out the other end, damaged, but in normal space once again, and two years closer to home. However, they had made enemies of the Malon, who were extremely unhappy about the loss of their bargain-priced toxic dumping ground.

There were side benefits to all of this excitement, however. True to her word, when her crew needed her, Captain Janeway was on the bridge; and with the ship out of the Void, her scientist's thirst for knowledge and the need to keep her crew safe from any more attacks such as the one from the Malon's waste barge had broken through her web of depression. Once again she was the tough leader she had been since she first became a Starfleet officer.

When Voyager skated through the vortex on a shockwave that threatened to tear the ship apart, Tom Paris was at the helm. While his previous ebullience was still nowhere in evidence, he had finally turned a corner. He started to live his life again. Tom even resumed his duties in Sickbay, although the Doctor did his best to assign him tasks in the lab and did not require him to spend much time in the treatment area. "One step at a time, Mr. Paris; one step at a time," was all he said when Tom questioned him about the change in assignments.

Chakotay and Tuvok were pleased to increase their percentage of success to 66.67%.

=/\=

The captain looked around the conference room table. Trouble with the Malon persisted. One of their ships was trying to steal a multi-phasic probe of Tuvok's construction which had been dragged down too deeply within the atmosphere of a gas giant to be safely retrieved.

"It looks like the Delta Flyer will be needed for its first mission within the week, Mr. Paris. Will it be ready in time?" she asked.

"We've still got some work to do. Simulations show the development of microfractures in the hull at high pressure. If we all pull together and put in a little overtime, we should be able to find a solution and meet that deadline without any problem, Captain" the pilot responded confidently. 

"I'm willing to work on the project any time I'm free," Harry Kim offered.

"I will give up regeneration for the duration, Captain, if that will be of assistance."

"Excellent." Turning to her chief engineer, the captain said, "B'Elanna, we could use your help with this microfracture problem."

"I'll do what I can," she murmured.

As the staff filed out of the conference room at the end of the meeting, the captain exchanged a quick glance with her first officer. Their chief engineer was still notably blasé about this project, which constituted a major concern for both of them. 

Tom had come to them a few days previously. "I don't understand it, Captain. It's something we've talked about ever since we first came up with the concept of the Flyer: combining her Engineering smarts and my piloting skills to develop a shuttle that was really suited for use here in the Delta Quadrant. Getting your permission to build it was a dream come true. And now, she doesn't seem to care about it at all."

"The only thing we can do is be patient with her," she'd responded to her helmsman.

Today, to her first officer, Captain Janeway advised, "Keep an eye on her, Commander. I'm worried about her."

Chakotay replied, "Of course, Captain. I am, too."

=/\=

After Tom notified him that his wife had abruptly left the hanger where the shuttle-building crew was frantically completing the last-minute touches needed prior to the first launch of the new shuttle, Chakotay requested B'Elanna's location from the computer. 

"Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres is located in Holodeck 2."

"Computer, what program is she running?"

"Torres Delta Phi Mu, the Delta Flyer construction simulation. Warning: safety protocols have been disengaged." 

"Damn it, B'Elanna," Chakotay snarled and ran towards Holodeck 2.

=/\=

When he opened the Holodeck door, warning Klaxons were sounding and the computer voice droned, "Safety protocols have been disengaged." He could tell the Delta Flyer simulation was not only running, it was about to crash land.

"Computer, freeze program!" Chakotay shouted. B'Elanna did not respond when he froze the program. White mists pouring from the shuttle simulation's interior clouded his vision. Chakotay had trouble finding B'Elanna, who was unconscious on the floor in the front of the shuttle. If he had arrived only a few seconds later, the crash would have occurred. With the safeties switched off, the crash might have created a crater on the Holodeck floor. The roof of the shuttle would have crunched the device into a configuration resembling a pancake, crushing anyone or anything within the simulated vehicle.

=/\=

B'Elanna awoke in Sickbay, the last place she wanted to be. The Doctor was clucking in concern over her as he waved his instruments over her.

"How long have I been out?"

"For over 12 hours, Lieutenant."

She started to slide off the biobed, slipping off the blanket covering her. "I've got to get back to the shuttle construction area. . ."

"No, you are not, Lieutenant. The captain has ordered me to keep you here until she has had a chance to speak with you."

No amount of pleading had any effect upon the EMH, although he agreed to contact the captain immediately to inform her that B'Elanna had regained consciousness.

Several impatient minutes later, a grim Captain Janeway confronted B'Elanna with the Doctor's findings: "multiple trauma injuries dating back over the past several weeks, including internal bleeding, spinal fractures, cranial bleeding. . . "

B'Elanna waved her hand, as if she could wave the accusations away. "I had walls fall on me, Captain." 

"No, B'Elanna, these injuries are not consistent with the disaster on Myntera. The Doctor had you here in Sickbay to treat those injuries. He has a complete record of their extent and where they were located. The injuries we are discussing have been sustained since he released you from Sickbay. He says the treatments given these injuries look like they were made by a first year nursing student. If any of your current injuries are due to that explosion on Myntera, the reason they are not yet healed is because of repeat trauma. What do you have to say about these findings, Lieutenant?"

B'Elanna remained silent. After a brief and private consultation with the EMH, the captain summoned her first officer to Sickbay. When he arrived, she ordered, "Commander, please share the results of your investigation concerning Lieutenant Torres' Holodeck usage over the past two months with her."

"Yes, ma'am," Chakotay replied. Turning to B'Elanna, he said grimly, "In this case, an in-person demonstration will be the best manner of presentation. You're getting your wish to be released from Sickbay right now, B'Elanna." Despite her protests, he took firm hold of B'Elanna's arm and dragged her to Holodeck 2.

"Computer, play Paris Kappa Delta Epsilon, the Klingon Day of Honor program, as modified on Stardate 52036.8 by Lieutenant Torres." 

B'Elanna struggled against his determined grip, but whether it was repeated injury or loss of will that had sapped her stores of Klingon strength, she did not succeed.

Initially, they entered into the cave which Tom had programmed for the Day of Honor. It contained Klingon holocharacters and a rack with various sorts of weapons, including pain sticks. Although the rack of weapons was there, none of the characters materialized to confront B'Elanna and Chakotay. After a moment's wait, Chakotay dragged B'Elanna down a rear passageway until they approached another room, totally different in character to the rest of the program. It had appeared to have once been a luxury hotel room, but the floor was littered with debris and shards of glass. The window frames were barely hanging onto the outer wall, and several beams had collapsed into the center of the room. An end of one beam had smashed down upon a piece of furniture located at the foot of a large bed. 

Before they could actually enter the ruined hotel room, B'Elanna screamed and managed to tear herself away from Chakotay. She lurched back down the way they had come, until a bend in the passageway hid the entrance to the recreated resort room. Even then, B'Elanna leaned her face into the wall, her back to Chakotay, who had walked back down the passage to where she was standing.

Relentlessly, he attacked, "You ran this program for 20 seconds two months ago, and never ran it again, but you've run program after dangerous program without safety protocols ever since. Explain yourself, Torres!"

She groaned. "Chakotay, I feel like I died in there too. No matter what I do, or eat, or experience, I feel nothing. Nothing at all. The only emotion I can even vaguely sense is anger. I'm numb, Chakotay. At least when I hurt, I feel something! The only time I know I'm still alive at all is when I'm in pain. And I don't know why I'm still alive when she, she . . . "

"B'Elanna, I can't really know the pain you're suffering, but I will gladly help you in any way I can, if you'll let me. And there's someone else on board that ship that DOES know what you're feeling, because he lost the same thing you did. Your husband is confused and grieving even more because he's doing it alone, because he can't reach you. You won't let him in. Can't you try, B'Elanna?"

"Chakotay, I don't even know if we have a marriage any more. He married me because I was pregnant. He wanted us to raise our daughter together. There's no daughter any more to raise, Chakotay. I don't think he wants me back."

"I think you're selling the man short, B'Elanna. He's a different man now from the one I used to know in the Maquis, or even from when we first came on board Voyager. He's made it very clear to me, and to everyone else on board ship, that he still wants you. He will help you, if you let him. He needs you, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna's head went down. "Does he need an empty shell, Chakotay? Because that's all I am any more. I may look like the B'Elanna Torres you knew, but I'm not her."

"You'll never get any better if you don't try, B'Elanna. Everyone on this ship needs their Chief Engineer back. We need you, and if nothing else, we need your expertise right now if we're ever going to get that new shuttle of your husband's flying, or return that lost probe to Voyager. Can we count on you?"

B'Elanna nodded weakly.

=/\=

When B'Elanna stepped on board the Delta Flyer, just before its first mission, she heard Harry's warm, "Welcome back, Maquis!" She saw Seven's eyes slip down to the engineer's troubleshooting kit B'Elanna carried and the slight nod of acknowledgement that she was back for the flight. 

And Tom, Tom's eyes lit up in a way she had not seen for over two months. "Glad you could make it, Lieutenant. We sure can use your help."

"I guess so, Lieutenant. Those microfractures won't go away by themselves. I've got a few ideas to keep the Flyer going until this mission is over and we can find a permanent solution to the problem." 

The mission didn't exactly go off as well as they had planned. Just as had been predicted by the Holodeck simulation, the rear wall of the shuttle began to buckle when microfractures formed at the high atmospheric pressure of the gas giant, weakening the shields to the point of collapse. And this time, there were no safety protocols to switch on, to prevent what almost happened in the Holodeck from happening for real. 

B'Elanna may have still felt numb, but in a crisis, a little detachment sometimes can be a positive factor rather than detrimental to the outcome. Using one of the oldest methods of repair available—a patch—and constructing a device from several spare parts from various shuttle systems, B'Elanna succeeded in building a portable shield powerful enough to reinforce the wall long enough for the completion of their mission. The probe was recovered. The team, and the somewhat damaged but still viable Delta Flyer, returned to Voyager. 

=/\=

B'Elanna stood at attention at her husband's side in Kathryn Janeway's Ready Room. Voyager's captain was seated at her desk; her first officer and the ship's EMH flanked her at each end of the desk. The Delta Flyer team had already been praised for their successful mission, and Harry and Seven had been excused. Now it was, as Tom had once called it, "on the carpet time."

"B'Elanna, it's been no secret how unhappy you've been the last couple of months, and with good reason. No one, least of all the others in this room, expected you to bounce back as if nothing happened on Myntera. But I've spoken with Commander Chakotay and our Doctor, and all of us have grave concerns about the way you've handled yourself. Damaging yourself. Shirking your duties—yes, B'Elanna, passing off so many tasks on your subordinates is shirking your duties." 

The captain took a deep breath and stole a look at her first officer. "And maybe I'm only more aware of that because I could be accused of the same offense during the last couple of months, and with more than a little justification, I might add. At any rate, my behavior has not endangered this crew to the extent yours has. B'Elanna, this ship needs her chief engineer to be functional, at the very least. We're all ready and willing to help you get through this, but you have to do your part. We can't do it alone. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain," she replied.

"All right. Doctor, how do you plan on healing the remaining injuries Lieutenant Torres has sustained?"

"If she will follow me to Sickbay at the end of this meeting, I will provide further treatment for the rest of the evening. I believe she will not require anything but sufficient rest over the next few days to achieve a full recovery. This presupposes, of course, that the activities that have caused these injuries immediately and permanently cease."

"You heard the Doctor. Are you willing to complete these treatments? Comply with ALL of his recommendations?" At B'Elanna's barely audible reply of assent, the captain turned to her Chief Helmsman.

"Tom, I have received information from a reliable source that your wife has some doubts about whether or not your marriage will continue. I really don't wish to pry into your personal relationship, but given recent events, I cannot preclude the possibility that if the marriage of two of my senior staff really is in trouble, the functioning of this vessel may suffer irrevocable damage. So, I need to ask you, do you have any doubts about the viability of your marriage?" 

Although his words were addressed to Captain Janeway, Tom leaned forward slightly, closer to B'Elanna, as if he was afraid she would not hear him if he answered normally. "None, Captain. I want my B'Elanna back."

"B'Elanna, what about you?" asked Chakotay. "Do you want this marriage to continue?"

Dully, she responded, "I don't know why he'd even still want me."

All pretense of remaining at attention fled as Tom grabbed B'Elanna by the arms and looked straight into her eyes. She had nowhere to look except at him. "Because I still love you, maybe? Don't you believe me?" he said, with an intensity he seldom displayed in front of anyone, other than B'Elanna, and only when they were alone.

B'Elanna stared into his eyes. There was love there, she could see it. It wasn't his fault she could no longer give him the love he needed. How could she tell him she felt no pleasure in anything they did? No pleasure in eating a good meal, or listening to a song, or in the way he loved her, before she'd added pain sticks to their list of essential love toys. Even the praise they'd just received for the successful first flight of the Delta Flyer, and for the retrieval of the probe, had barely touched her emotionally. She knew Tom loved her; the question was, would she ever be able to love him again the way he deserved to be loved? She didn't know what to say. So she said nothing.

The silence was broken by the EMH. " 'Give sorrow words, the grief that does not speak knits up the overwrought heart and bids it break.' "

The captain turned towards the Doctor. "Shakespeare? Is it from Hamlet?"

"No, Captain. MacBeth."

"No lack of grief in that one, either," the captain muttered. She turned back to her sad Romeo and Juliet. Too much grief there. Personally, she much preferred their old roles of the Beatrice and Benedick of the Delta Quadrant, if Shakespeare was to form the template for the relationship between her Chief Engineer and Helmsman. 

Shakespeare. The arts. The captain caught hold of an elusive idea, prompting a plan of action.

In a commanding tone of voice, the captain stated, "Lieutenant Torres, I'm revoking all individual Holodeck privileges for the immediate future. Until you have been directed otherwise, you will be permitted on the Holodeck only with another member of the crew, and with the proviso that the safety protocols are always to be left operational. Do you understand, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Lieutenant Paris, I'm not going to restrict your privileges, but I will remind you that the second your reserved time has expired, I expect your program to be shut off, no matter where it is in the 'chapter.' Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Captain."

"I would also suggest you find a role that would suit your wife's unique talents in that Captain Proton program of yours—or find something else to play when you take her to the Holodeck."

"Yes, ma'am."

"One more thing. I'm ordering both of you to attend every social event that Mr. Neelix plans for the next two months, maybe longer, at my discretion--duty shifts permitting, of course. Commander Chakotay, please be aware of this proviso when you are making up their schedules. Allow them to attend as many functions as possible. It's time the Holodeck returned to its rightful place as only one of many ways to spend one's free time."

"I'm sure I can arrange that, Captain. There's a talent show tomorrow night, as a matter of fact. I believe you're both free?"

Tom nodded his head. B'Elanna hesitated, a sour look upon her face, before finally bobbing her head in agreement. Carey was scheduled to be in charge tomorrow night. Chakotay would never let B'Elanna switch with him now.

"All right. I think that's all for the moment. Tom, you're dismissed to helm duty for the remainder of the shift. B'Elanna, please accompany the Doctor to Sickbay to complete his treatment regimen."

The room cleared until only the captain and her first officer remained. She got up from her desk and walked over to the sofa beneath the windows, now shining with a dense array of stars, nearby suns, and nebula instead of the bleak landscape of the Void it displayed a fortnight before.

The first officer followed her and sat down a few feet away from her. "I'm impressed, Captain."

"About my creative application of disciplinary measures, Chakotay?"

"No, by admitting that you were notable by your absence when we were crossing the Void. Most captains would never ever admit to anything like that in front of members of their crews."

She sighed. "I'm humbly begging your pardon, Chakotay. It may be barely acceptable behavior to leave the second in command in the position of being the de facto captain when the assigned captain is hiding out in her quarters, moping; we sometimes can convince ourselves we're 'training the first officer for future commands,' but I know what happened this time. I was hiding out, wallowing in my own misery. I am sorry, Chakotay. I can't promise I won't do it again someday, for a shift or two, but I'll never do it to you again for as long as I did over the past few months. You can hold me to that, Chakotay."

"Let's just say it was a unique convergence of events, which we both trust will never occur again. I consider it over."

She reached out her hand to him. "Thank you, Chakotay. For your understanding. For everything."

=/\=

Tom emerged from the sonic shower, rubbing his body all over with a towel. Even when he didn't take a shower with water, he liked the rough texture of the toweling stimulating his skin. As he bent over to pull up a clean pair of uniform trousers, his wife entered the room. She had a determined look upon her face. At least it wasn't the numb face he'd grown far too accustomed to for the past several weeks. Hesitantly, he reminded her, "The talent show starts in twenty minutes. You'll really need to shake a leg to get ready in time."

B'Elanna stared at him. "I have a headache. I'd rather stay right here in my quarters and rest. The Doctor told me I needed to rest."

Tom said nothing for a couple of minutes as he finished putting on his boots and singlet. At last he said grimly, "B'Elanna, I'm tired of fighting you. I've been ordered to attend the talent show by the captain, and I have no intention of going against her, especially after all that's happened. If you want me to leave you, okay. After the talent show, I'll ask Harry if he'll let me bunk with him until I can be assigned to new quarters. But the captain ordered both of us to attend this show tonight, so we're going. We can sit in the back row. You don't even have to pay attention. She can order you to attend, but she can't make you pay attention to what's going on."

"But my headache . . ."

"B'Elanna, if you tell the captain you can't come because of a headache, you know what will happen. She'll send you to the Doctor. He'll give you an analgesic, and then he'll order you to report back to the talent show, per the captain's orders. What a colossal waste of time that will be! Or if, for some unimaginable reason, the Doctor decides you really do have a bad enough headache, he'll make you stay in Sickbay all night, running every single scan he can think of that is even vaguely appropriate, nattering all the while about all sorts of things that interest him and don't interest you, and . . ."

"Okay, okay! I get the picture! I'll be ready in ten minutes."

=/\=

The "playbill's" cover, drawn by Naomi Wildman, featured some sort of bird lying in a very peculiar position, surrounded by a sea of blue. Apparently, Naomi's debut in the role of the Dying Swam was being heralded as the lead attraction. 

"Did you teach her this dance?" Chakotay asked with a smile, pointing to Naomi's name in the program. 

"Guilty as charged. I thought it was time to pass the role on to a new generation."

Other than Naomi's climactic performance, the show promised to be very much like most of the others, although at the instigation of the EMH, Nanny was to recite a speech of Viola's from Twelfth Night. That might prove to be interesting, as this show was be Nanny's debut as a performer A barbershop quartet consisting of singers from the Science Department was scheduled to perform three songs in close harmony. The captain had heard them practicing after lunch and thought they were rather good; she looked forward to hearing their real performance. A couple of humorous skits were listed on the program. Neelix was featured in one, set in the mess hall. Sue Nicoletti and Harry Kim were presenting a Mozart instrumental duet for oboe and clarinet. Ensign Vorik was giving a dramatic reading from a classic Vulcan drama. Kathryn hoped it was not going to be a very long one. A couple of magic acts and a stand-up comedy routine rounded out the program.

One act that usually appeared during talent night shows seemed to be missing, however. She turned to Chakotay. "No 'song of the people' from the repertoire of our first officer tonight?"

"I thought I'd save it for next time."

She smiled at him and swiveled her head around to peruse the rapidly filling mess hall. She looked for Tom and B'Elanna, but there was no sign of them yet. Just as Neelix stood up to begin introducing the first act, however, Chakotay pointed in back of where they were sitting, to the very last row, where the couple was taking their seats. Neither looked particularly pleased to be there, and Kathryn wondered if her order had been such a good idea after all. Still, they had followed orders. They were here. The first step was always the hardest, they say—whoever "they" were. 

The performances went quite well. The musical numbers were all on key, the dramatic readings were interesting, and even Vorik's was not too drawn out to be appreciated. The EMH had obviously coached and/or programmed Nanny in her monologue. The captain suspected he had also been the one to choose her rather fussy medieval costume. Every so often, the captain looked over her shoulder to see how her chief engineer and helmsman were responding to the various acts. They always clapped politely, although neither one seemed to be paying much attention. She never saw them laugh at any of the funny bits. 

When the penultimate act, the barbershop quartet, was taking their well-deserved bows, Chakotay whispered, "I wonder if it was a good idea making Tom and B'Elanna come tonight to see this." 

Janeway looked down at the program. "The Dying Swan," performed by Miss Naomi Wildman, choreographed by Captain Kathryn Janeway." She had never thought of it, but he was right. The couple might become upset watching little Naomi dancing to that particular subject. When she looked over at them while Neelix was introducing Naomi, however, they did not appear to be at all perturbed by dancer, subject matter or the title of the piece. As the recorded music came over the speakers, Naomi fluttered her arms in the movements of the dance, which she had so diligently practiced over the past couple of weeks. Kathryn was pleased to see how well she had picked up the choreography. Naomi gracefully glided across the stage. Her act truly was the climactic performance of the night. As she took her bows, the audience gave her a standing ovation. 

Naomi, basking in the applause from the audience, apparently remembered something her mother had shared with her. At the end of their last rehearsal together, Ensign Wildman told her daughter that if the audience applauded Naomi, showing they were impressed by her performance, she could thank them by applauding back to them. The captain had confirmed it. At the sight of the crew's standing ovation, Naomi happily began to clap her hands.

Oohs and aahs erupted out of the audience. Kathryn was as charmed as everyone else by Naomi's gesture and obvious enjoyment of her success.

Suddenly, Chakotay stopped applauding and gave Kathryn a nudge. When she turned towards him, he tilted his head, indicating she should look towards the seats occupied by Tom and B’Elanna. 

For the first time that she could remember, B'Elanna's usually swarthy complexion looked almost as pale as her husband's. Tom was looking away from Naomi, perhaps so the child would not see the tears streaming down his cheeks. A noise escaped B'Elanna's lips, not a growl of anger, but a terrible choking sound. Tom grabbed his wife by her upper arms, pulled her to a stand, and half-dragged her out of the mess hall.

"Chakotay," Kathryn whispered, but he was already getting up from his seat. While the captain marched up to the stage, clapping enthusiastically to draw as much attention as she could towards Naomi, Chakotay slipped back to the exit doors. Upon reaching it, the first officer nodded to his captain and stood on guard. No one else was going to exit from the mess hall until she gave the him word.

"Naomi, that was so lovely," she said, as the applause finally started to die down. Can you do an encore for us?"

"Thanks, Captain, but I don't know another dance. You have to teach another to me first."

The audience chuckled, but several of the crew sitting close to the back of the mess hall were looking backwards towards the exit. In the relative silence, the sound of a strangled cry could be heard through the closed door. As some of the audience started whispering to each other, Janeway suspected that some, if not all, had figured out what was happening.

"Naomi, since you cannot give us another dance, could you please grace us with a song?"

"I know two songs that Flotter and Trevis sing: 'When You're Happy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands' and 'Bingo.' I could sing one of them." 

"Why don't you sing both, one right after the other? I'll bet most of the crew can join in, can't you all?" Kathryn looked around at the crew, nodding a little, with a smile on her lips that never quite reached her eyes.

Naomi began to sing the first song. As requested, most of the audience sang along, enthusiastically clapping their hands, stomping their feet, and generally, making a lot more noise than they really needed to make for the sake of the song itself. No one was trying to leave, as they usually did at the end of a show. Clearly, most of audience now understood something untoward had occurred, and they were willing to help their crew mates avoid embarrassment in any way they could.

At the end of Naomi's second song, as the renewed applause died away, Janeway saw Chakotay bob his head before walking to the stage to congratulate Naomi upon her performance. When he arrived, he faced the audience and announced, "If you don't mind, I'd like to add an encore of my own. It's a song of my people. I hope I do it justice." As he smiled broadly, Kathryn patted him on the back and accompanied Naomi to the seat next to her mother. Rather than sit near the Wildmans, however, she moved to the back of the room to take his place guarding the door. Chakotay's mellow baritone floated over the audience, in a sweet song with lyrics that were repetitive, yet hypnotic. Although his song was lovely, Kathryn could not pay it the attention it deserved. 

She peeked out of the door and saw that her helmsman and her chief engineer were still in the corridor, leaning against one wall. Although she was no longer wailing loudly, B'Elanna was enveloped within her husband's arms, weeping, and saying over and over, "We'll never see her grow up. We'll never see her again. I can't stand it, Tom. I can't."

"Just let it all out," the captain heard Tom say, with his own tears still running down his face. Kathryn felt her own heart breaking for the two of them. If only they didn't have to suffer this terrible, terrible pain, but there was nothing they could do now except cry it all out. Cry it out, and start over again—if they could.

=/\=

After another impromptu encore from Harry on his clarinet, the captain strolled down to the stage area. "It's getting late, everyone. Time to call it a night."

The audience and performers filed out, into the empty corridor,

When the mess hall was empty, except for their Talaxian Morale Officer puttering in his kitchen, Chakotay bent his head down to whisper to her, "It's a relief. Maybe now the healing can begin."

"Oh, I hope so, Chakotay. I don't know what set them off, but they both really lost it."

"I'm not sure what did it, either, and I'm certainly not going to ask either of them what it was. If they offer an explanation, I'll share it with you. All I ask is that somehow, they find their way out of this valley of pain."

"It's the worst thing in life, Chakotay, losing a child," she said huskily.

Chakotay watched his captain's eyes spill over with tears. He understood. The crew were all her children. She couldn't bear to lose any of them, but she already had, many times. No one on this ship, he thought, has lost more children than Kathryn Janeway. 

There was really nothing he could say to her, so he did what he could. He let her weep on his shoulder until her tears were spent. He walked her out of the mess hall, accompanied her to her own quarters, and said good night to her as the door closed her in. As he stood in the corridor outside her quarters, he vowed he would not allow her stay there once the ship's night was over. He'd barge in and carry her out to the bridge, if he had to. He couldn't let her sink into depression again. Voyager and her crew needed their captain far too much for him to let that happen again.

=/\=

Later, in their quarters, the lights were dim, but Tom and B'Elanna had not retired to their bed. Wrapped up in each other's arms, eyes red from crying, the couple were sprawled together on their sofa. 

"Tom. Our baby is . . . gone. She's . . . dead." B'Elanna's voice quivered slightly over each word.

"Yes."

"We were just starting to get to know her."

Tom stroked her hair gently. "I know." 

"She was just starting to learn to do things. She would have clapped for Naomi, too. . ." B'Elanna began to weep quietly again.

Holding B'Elanna gently, Tom let her sob softly into his shoulder as he considered what to say to her. His own eyes, bluer than usual in contrast to their red rims, overflowed. He had tried desperately to ignore the truth of his pain by playing games in the holodeck and, he could now admit to himself, by taking foolish risks. Flying the Delta Flyer on that mission into the gas giant when they hadn't really licked the microfracture problem was a stupid thing to do. If B'Elanna hadn't finally come around and gone with them, jury rigging the solution that held the shuttle together, Harry and Seven would have died, too, along with him. He'd already taken too many foolish chances in his life. It was the main reason for the disaster at Caldik Prime. Enough had already died; he was lucky so few had been hurt or killed on his watch over the past four years, when on too many occasions, he'd been heedless of his future. 

He'd lost sight his future when Linnis lost hers. Now, unless he said what he had to say in just the right way, he knew he could smash any future days he might have with B'Elanna. Confronted by that very real possibility, he knew exactly what he wanted from her, and from himself.

When she was quiet and still, he cautiously said her name.

"Yes, Tom?" she answered him.

"I just wanted to say . . . I wish we had her longer, but sometimes, we can't have what we wish for." His arms closed a little more tightly around her, his long body stretched alongside her petite one, touching her wherever he could, hoping there would not be another flood of tears.

Softly, she replied, "She never even had a chance to live."

"I know. But she's still our daughter, B'Elanna. No one can take that away from us. She may be gone, but we're still a family."

"Are we, Tom?"

"Sure, we are. It doesn't take a child to make a family. It takes people who love one another enough to want to share their lives with each other. Hey, we're all family here on Voyager. Everyone grieved for Linnis when she was . . . was taken away from us."

"Did they? I never knew."

"Of course they did. If you hadn't been so out of it, you would have seen it, too." Tom sighed and murmured into her hair, "And so was I, I guess. Harry tried to help me. Chakotay and Neelix, too. Even Seven. I wasn't ready. And I . . . I guess I needed your help more than anyone's, just like you needed mine. I'm sorry I didn't give it to you."

"I'm sorry, too, Tom. I should have realized it wasn't just me." She leaned against his chest. "It just hurt so much, I refused to even think about her . . . and then I couldn't feel anything at all, about anything."

"Shhh. It's okay. You're here for me now, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said through her tears, bringing a pained smile to her husband's face. 

"Good. 'Cause I'm here for you, too."

B'Elanna clung to the strong body holding onto hers. Finally, when she was able to speak again, she admitted, "It's going to be just like when my father left. I cried every night once I knew he was gone."

"This is different, B'Elanna. It's not like when a father leaves a family."

"Maybe not, but I still feel . . . abandoned."

"Linnis didn't abandon us; she was taken. And Linnis would have left us for her own destiny someday anyway."

"Not until she was grown! When she was living her own life! When she had had a chance to grow up!"

"Of course, but nobody knows how long they have, B'Elanna, especially out here. That's one of the risks you take in Starfleet. I wanted her to live a long and happy life, too. But sometimes it's just not to be."

"It's not fair," she cried out.

He wrapped her more tightly within his arms, murmuring, "No, B'Elanna. It isn't fair. It just is. We have to accept it. We have our memories of her. And we still have each other, don't we?"

She snuffled a bit before faintly answering, "Yes."

"I love you, B'Elanna. I know I don't say it often enough." 

"I love you, too, Tom." She gulped. "And I don't say it enough, either."

The couple rested on the couch, truly together for the first time in far too long. 

Eventually, without asking, but without raising any complaints, either, Tom slid off the sofa, lifted her up in his arms, and carried her to their bed. He helped her undress before taking off his own clothing and slipping into bed beside her. On another, happier night, they might have made love passionately. On this night, their hearts were far too heavy for either to suggest it. Assuming the same positions in bed they had taken on the couch, they held each other close until they had both drifted off into fitful sleep.

=/\=

A few hours later, toward the end of ship's night, Tom abruptly awoke. He became foggily aware of B'Elanna's squirming weight resting next to him. He listened to the sound of her breathing. Ragged and uneven, it sounded as if she may have been silently crying again. 

He could not tell if her restlessness had awakened him. Before he could say anything to her, however, he felt her roll into his arms. Slowly, she began to stroke his chest and arms, smoothing the flat of her palms over his skin, as if to reassure herself that he was in her bed once again. Wordlessly, he mirrored her motion by rubbing her back gently. For a long time, in the complete darkness of their quarters, they let their hands deftly communicate what their lips had said imperfectly before. "We are here," they said. "We are in this together. Let us comfort each other. Yes, we do love each other."

Eventually, their bodies responded to the touching. B'Elanna's hands stroked down over Tom's torso, combing the fine down from pectorals to his belly, past his navel, until he gasped. She took him into her hand and gently massaged him to aching need. In the silent darkness she gently grasped Tom's hand, inviting him to touch her just as intimately as she had stroked him. Skin moved over warming skin until B'Elanna, with gentle pressure, at last guided Tom into position over her. Opening herself to him, she drew him deeply within her.

Once united, their bodies moved in the sweet and familiar rhythm that had so delighted them in the past. Their rocking was punctuated by sighs and little moans, but no words ever came. None were needed. Both knew what the other wanted. As they made love, they clasped their hands high over B'Elanna's head, fingers woven together in a subtle tapestry. 

That night, there was little true delight in what they shared, little in the way of foreplay performed by either of them; only a few short and feather-light kisses on the lips and a few others that were more intense than passionate. Tonight was not a night dedicated to experiments in creative lovemaking or sexual gymnastics; there would be no exploration of fascinating positions from the Kama Sutra or wild, lustful love bites to heighten sensation. Even the achievement of mutual orgasm, while desirable, was quite beside the point. Tom and B'Elanna had shared many evenings full of that sort of happiness before. 

This night, rather, was about reassurance, about the realization that such blissful nights would be possible again someday if they gave themselves a chance--after they had basted the raw wounds of grief together and given them a chance to heal, to the extent they ever would. Tonight, Tom and B'Elanna discovered they could again find joy in making love, even if joy was very much beside the point.

To say good-bye to a parent is expected; to say farewell forever to a sibling is not uncommon, but to lose a child in this day and age is rare, rare enough that the shock can easily sunder the union of parents who are not committed to one another. Denial of the pain, mortification of the flesh, or running away from reality are common ways of dealing with the unspeakable. Both Tom and B'Elanna had fallen into traps that could have thrust them apart forever. Instead, in the early hours of that ship's day, they faced their agony and saved themselves from drowning in self-pity. On this night their joining was something much deeper and more profound than joy, happiness, or even simply the satisfaction of an urge to perform a bodily function. Tonight, it served to bind together two shattered souls to help them bear the pain of one of the most terrible losses any couple can suffer.

Tonight, the act of love served as a surrogate for the taking of an oath. In actions rather than words, B'Elanna Torres and Thomas Eugene Paris renewed their marriage vows and promised each other a future together. This time there was no child-to-be influencing their union, only the call of two badly broken hearts, finding in their mate the solace each needed from the other. Once they had promised to love each other in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad. Then, they had not known just how bad the bad times could be. Tonight, as countless couples before them had found, through many centuries and on many worlds, they discovered two could bear unbearable grief better than one alone. If they stood together against their grief, they could survive anything--even the loss of their beloved firstborn child. 

Afterwards they lay together in the quiet darkness and lightly touched each other's faces. The moisture on their cheeks might have been tears rather than sweat from their exertion, but really, it didn't matter. Though neither had called for the lights, both could feel the glimmering of something even more important.

Hope.

=/\=

The next morning, they made love again. While eating breakfast together before reporting to their duty stations, they spoke quietly of their loss. Over the following days, they shared precious memories of their daughter. Perhaps someday they might be fortunate enough to create a new child, another new life. He or she could never truly take the place of their lost Linnis, who would always live on in their hearts, but this new small person, unique to him or herself, would be raised and cherished just as much as they had cherished Linnis. 

It would be a while before they would be ready for that, they agreed. There was no need to rush into parenthood again. They needed time to sort everything out, time to get used to life without Linnis, as they had needed time to get used to life with her.

Gradually, as they moved back into a relationship that permitted at least the occasional conversation about Linnis without unbearable pain, they could give voice to what they had discovered in each other's arms as they began the path to acceptance of their loss. 

They truly wanted to be with each other. They needed each other. They loved each other.

Finally, they could accept that of each other, too.

 

=/\=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Clap Hands": "Night," written by Brannon Braga and Joe Menosky, and "Extreme Risk," written by Kenneth Biller, seemed to be a two-part episode. I handled them as such in "Clap Hands." However, I did not feel "Extreme Risk" made a lot of sense as presented on the series. How was it no one, especially Tom, noticed B'Elanna's self-abuse, especially if it had been going on for months? Earlier episodes gave little hint, and a long time had passed since those messages about the death of the Maquis movement. Unfortunately, in this "Warmth" universe, her actions made all too much sense--but not if she was still caring for her daughter. 
> 
> I wanted to say these events never happened. Then the characters insisted that they had happened and that the story needed to be written. It took me 13 years before I finally caved in. This is a quintessential hurt/comfort story; I shed many tears writing it, especially since I know that an emotional breakdown can occur months after a devastating loss, triggered by a word or action that appears to be inconsequential--because it happened to me. 
> 
> The quote from MacBeth is from Act IV, Scene III, lines 243-244.
> 
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


	9. Footsteps in the Sand

**Footprints in the Sand**

 

The planet didn't have a name. Over 90% of the its surface was comprised of warm, salty ocean. The chains of islands dotting the seas bore rocks, grasses, small bushes, and sandy shores. Resources that might attract the attention of space-faring entrepreneurs, or even the Borg, were totally lacking. The scientists on Voyager discovered no evidence of intelligent life. The indigenous life forms were limited to plants, sea creatures, and insects. Fortunately, none of the animal life found was bigger than an old-fashioned bread box, and none of them, even the insects, appeared to have a taste for the humanoids living on Voyager. 

There was only one thing for which this planet was perfectly suited, and in the most literal sense: Shore Leave. As Tom Paris had declared from the helm, "We should name this planet Paradise Beach."

=/\=

"What are you doing, Tom?"

"I'm just doing a little tracking."

"What's to track? There aren't any animals here big enough to leave any footprints!"

"Who said I'm tracking animals, B'Elanna? I've got bigger game in mind."

"Game? Whatever are you talking about?"

Tom turned to face his wife and whispered to her, even though they were the only ones currently on this particular island, "The captain and Chakotay went to this beach this morning. I wanted to see if there was any 'compromising evidence' of how they spent their time here, and for over six hours, I might add." 

She knew what he was getting at. She'd had plenty of experience recognizing the signs. "Tom, have I called you a pig lately?"

"Not that I can recall," he said, with a lascivious grin. 

"Well, that's exactly what you are! How do you even know whose footprints these are, even if you should happen to find any 'compromising evidence?'"

"I happen to know they went to this very beach this morning."

"As have at least a dozen other members of the crew over the past three days. How can you possibly tell if these footprints belong to them or not?"

"Um, well, they look pretty fresh, and the tide does wash up this beach pretty far. It probably washed away all of the other footprints," he replied, although most of the swagger had gone out of his voice.

She threw down the beach bags and blanket she was carrying. Assuming a wider stance, arms folded, she sternly confronted him. "Thomas Eugene Paris, I would prefer to spend our limited time on this lovely beach taking part in far more enjoyable activities than indulging your prurient fantasies about our commanding officers."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, an impudent grin reappearing on his face. "Maybe we can leave a little 'compromising evidence' of our own on the sand up there, by that rock outcropping."

B'Elanna looked in the direction to which he pointed, noting that the footprints he had been tracking appeared to be heading to that very place. "You're incorrigible; you know that, don't you?" she said, retrieving the bags and blanket from the sand.

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed.

Laughing, she followed him up to the rock overhang, which was, indeed, where the footprints led, ending in an area that had apparently seen the application of a blanket and bags. Another set of footprints led away from the overhang, further down the beach. 

"We could move along a little farther . . ." he began.

"This is far enough, Tom. I've done all the 'tracking' I want to do for one day. How about a nice swim before we have our lunch? That's what we came here for, right?"

"A swim, lunch, maybe a few other activities which you might describe as 'prurient.'"

"It's only prurient if we have an audience, which I do not intend to have," she said severely, but with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Say, Lieutenant, since this beach is so secluded, why don't we indulge ourselves in a little skinny dipping."

"Aren't Harry and Seven planning to meet us here?"

"Not for at least an hour. We should have plenty of time for other activities before they get here." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making her laugh again.

"Hey, you want to live dangerously, Flyboy, I'm willing to go along."

The bathing suits were shed in seconds. They ran down into the water, beyond the line of surf lapping gently along the strand, splashing each other like children discovering the delights of the sea for the very first time.

=/\=

Thirty minutes later, according to Voyager ship time, two figures coalesced into being at the same coordinates to which Tom and B'Elanna had arrived. While Harry Kim adjusted the straps of the beach bags he carried, Seven of Nine turned herself around, a full 360 degree circuit, before pointing a Borg accented finger at two sets of footprints in the sand. "Lieutenants Torres and Paris appear to have headed in this direction."

They had followed the footprints for only a short distance before Seven, whose ocular implant provided her with far more efficient vision than Harry's strictly biological ones, announced, "I can see them. They do not seem to be wearing bathing costumes. They appear to be copulating." She turned to face her companion and stated, in response to the choking sound he had just made, "I was not informed bathing costumes were optional, Ensign Kim."

"They may be optional, but if they aren't wearing bathing costumes, Tom and B'Elanna sure won't want our company. Particularly if they really are copulating. Shall we go back the way we came? Mariah Henley and Mortimer Harren told me there's a very nice cove in the other direction, with lots of tiny shells on its beach. We can collect some, if any of them look interesting."

"You are interested in scientific exploration on this excursion, Ensign? I thought the captain said we were supposed to be having 'fun.'"

"Fun can take many forms, Seven. We can combine a little scientific exploration with a swim." They began a leisurely stroll in the direction from which they had come. "I remember when my parents used to take me to the beach when I was little. I always brought back a pail of shells with me when we went home at night. Souvenirs of the day. I wouldn't be surprised if my mom still has them! Let's see if we can find anything worth taking home from this beach."

The other beach was very pretty. After plunking down their bags, blankets, and food cooler on a shelf of sand higher up on the beach, Harry and Seven walked down to the sea's edge. The shells were lovely, in a multitude of pearly, pastel colors, but ultimately they were rather disappointing. None of the intact ones were larger than five centimeters in length. Within five minutes Harry and Seven had collected a dozen or so in different colors, but that was all they found worth preserving as mementoes of their trip. 

Once they returned to the blankets they'd spread on the sand shelf, Seven asked, "Are bathing costumes optional for everyone, or only for married couples, such as Lieutenants Torres and Paris?"

"There are beaches on Earth where swimming without suits are the norm. Here, I guess anything goes. We don't have to worry about shocking the sensibilities of anybody but our crew mates. And if the crew mates are good enough friends, then suits are optional."

"I believe we are good enough friends, Ensign." Nonchalantly, Seven removed her bathing suit. 

Harry felt his mouth go dry. Despite a few remaining Borg implants on her torso, Seven possessed a body well-equipped to make any man happy, yet he hesitated when he remembered his lost love. He hadn't really dated much since losing Kes. At the end of their days together, just before her transformation from a corporeal to non-corporeal form, he had promised her he would not cut himself off from loving someone else because of her, but his attempts at forming a new relationship never seemed to end well. A burgeoning relationship with his long-time friend Ensign Lyndsay Ballard had ended twice, once because of her death; and a second time when she returned from the dead three years later. Her reanimated self could not readjust to life on Voyager; and eventually, Lyndsay returned to her new people. And then there was Tal. He'd even managed to contract a disease from the Varro woman—although he always remembered her with a melancholy fondness.

Dating Seven wasn't something he'd thought much about, despite her very spectacular endowments. Since she had been assimilated as a child, Harry had always considered her only marginally more mature emotionally than Naomi Wildman. Seven could still be clueless in social situations, although he had to admit, during the past three years she had grown in many ways. Mothering the tragic Borg drone One for so brief a time had certainly had an effect, as did caring for four Borg children liberated from the Collective. Seven had served as mentor to them for several months, until Azan and Rebi were reunited with family members who also volunteered to adopt the third child, Mezoti. The fourth Borg "child," the teenager Icheb, was now a permanent member of the crew and, effectively, Seven's adopted son. But only now, after seeing Seven in, quite literally, her most revealing state, could he consider if he truly was ready to attempt a romance with one of the most daunting women he had ever encountered.

He realized he was at a nexus in his life. Seven never did anything half way. Exposing herself to him the way she had, with the implicit challenge it represented, was probably a one-time offer. Staring into her eyes, he came to a decision. He stripped off his bathing trunks and revealed himself to her sure and steady inspection.

His body immediately responded to her intense regard with a very predictable, and visible, manifestation. Harry was extremely embarrassed, but he resisted the impulse to cover himself up in any way while he waited for her next comment.

Seven arched her brow, saying only, "Shall we take our swim, Ensign?"

As they walked to the water's edge, he said, "Don't you think calling me 'Harry' might be more appropriate, Seven? I mean, if we really are such good friends?"

A ghost of a smile appeared. "Yes . . . Harry."

He caught her biological hand as they walked into the surf. He didn't know where this was going to lead, if anywhere, but the trip itself promised to be quite a ride.

=/\=

They lingered in the shadow of the rock shelf, completely relaxed, enjoying the chance to steal a few moments of time that, from the surroundings, could have been in many places or times other than their present location, still deep in the Delta Quadrant. 

B'Elanna fingered the spot where Tom's birth control implant had been located until a week ago. Tom had not yet asked the Doctor for a replacement. Since B'Elanna's implant was going to need replacement in a couple of weeks, Tom had decided to hold off until they were sure they knew what they were going to do. After their experience on Tantrum IV, Tom had always been vigilant, replacing his implant at least a week before it was due to lose its power. This time, he might not need to replace it.

"It's your decision, you know. I've been ready to try again for a while now," Tom said, as if reading her mind. He began to finger her hip, where her own hard node of birth control implant rested beneath her skin.

B'Elanna was silent for a long minute before answering him. "Yes, Tom, it is time, time to try again. I can't say it doesn't scare me. So much can still happen. We are a lot closer to home now, though, and I am much more hopeful about our future than I was for a long while. So, I say, let's go for it."

"That's my brave half-Klingon warrior!" He gave her a sweet kiss that was not exactly consistent with his reference to her Klingon heritage.

"Speaking of a brave warrior, you really don't have any qualms about having another part-Klingon running around the ship?"

"Bring 'em on! Three or four! Maybe half a dozen! We could raise up a whole bunch of replacements for Tuvok's security team! Of course, they'd all be excellent pilots and great engineers, too. Not to mention Holodeck programmers par excellence."

"Wait a minute," she laughed. "I'm only saying we should try once more, Tom! I haven't committed to a basketball team-sized family!"

"I know. I'm just doing my best 'Tom-Paris-as-enthusiast-of-all-things-Klingon' impression. But that's because I am married to the most beautiful Klingon there ever was, and I hope every single one of our children, no matter how many there may eventually be, look just like you."

She stared into his face, which had changed its expression mid-sentence from teasing to sincere. She gulped a bit before saying softly, "You mean, the way Linnis looked like me."

His gaze into her eyes never wavered, as he said, huskily. "Yes. Exactly."

She broke eye contact first, sliding down and placing her head, with its furrowed brow, against his chest. The ache was still there. It would always be there. "Tom, do you ever think what she would be like, if she were still here? If we hadn't lost her?"

"Of course, B'Elanna. All the time." He tipped her head up to his lips and gently kissed B'Elanna's brow. "But we did lose her, and dwelling too much on might-have-beens isn't good for us. Any children we ever have will never 'replace' Linnis. She was irreplaceable. But if the past couple of years have taught me anything, it's that I want to share the love we feel for each other with another child. Linnis wasn't with us for long, but she brought so much joy in that short time she was here—and I think we brought a lot of joy to her, too."

"She did bring us joy, and I truly believe she was happy, for as long as she had," B'Elanna murmured softly. At one time, that sentence might have culminated with a bout of sobbing, but B'Elanna was finally able to speak of her lost daughter without breaking down every time.

"So I want to share that joy with you again, with however many other children we get to make."

"We make love often enough, we might have a crowd of kids if we're not careful," B'Elanna said, her mellow mood lifting a bit, as it usually did whenever the topic of lovemaking arose.

"I'm ready whenever you are, Chief. How about another practice run right now?"

B'Elanna rolled her eyes and sighed deeply, but she was smiling, with dancing eyes. "Incorrigible, Tom. You're just totally incorrigible. "

He grinned back at her, again touching the birth control implant that now would be removed and not replaced when they returned to Voyager. 

Memories of their lost daughter would never fade. Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres were sadder but wiser than when they had first romped in a cave sheltering them from the bitter climate of a world now so many light years behind them. From their pain had come a love so much deeper and fuller than it was in the beginning. Tom could hardly remember a time he did not love B'Elanna Torres, and now they were ready to be parents again. They were as ready as they'd ever be. 

=/\=

By 1740 hours, ship's time, B'Elanna and her husband were strolling along the edge of the surf, back the way they came, headed towards the coordinates where they first arrived on the island. Harry and Seven never had shown up, although Tom and B'Elanna weren't exactly unhappy about that. Mr. Paris and Chief Engineer Torres had spent their Shore Leave very productively, in their not-so-humble opinion. The intrusion of the other couple would have served only to limit that productivity, and to a very great degree.

They did not make it very far, however, before B'Elanna drily said, "I do believe Harry and Seven made it down to the beach after all, Tom. They seem to have decided to indulge themselves in some recreational activities of their own instead of meeting up with us."

Tom stared at the couple in the distance, whose recreational activities, of an amorous nature, echoed those which Tom and B'Elanna had enjoyed. "Good for you, Harry. It's about time," Tom laughed. He turned to his wife. "Why don't we just beam straight up to the ship from here, maybe take a shower together in our quarters before scheduling that visit with the Doc we talked about?"

"Sounds good to me, Tom, very good."

=/\=

Unbeknownst to Tom and B'Elanna, at that moment they were not merely planning to make an addition to their family. Thanks to the recreational activities which had taken place earlier in the day on the secluded beach, a potent supply of semen was even then swimming vigorously up Lieutenant Torres' Fallopian tubes, since no birth control implant rested within Lieutenant Paris' body to interfere with their copious production. Under normal circumstances, Lieutenant Torres' own implant would have prevented ovulation. There would have been no egg available to meet those enthusiastic sperm.

Little was "the norm" when it came to Lieutenant Torres, however, as the Doctor very well knew. While usually quite effective for all races utilizing the testosterone/ estrogen/ progesterone family of hormones for reproduction, this type of birth control implant, in hybrid races, had a slight quirk. The Doctor already knew that, depending upon the species of the humanoid using it, the length of time the implant was effective differed. This presented no real problems for the Doctor. He merely adjusted the schedule it was to be renewed accordingly. Conventional wisdom also told the Doctor that for a hybrid, the recommended length of time between renewals was the same as for that of the species with the shorter effective period.

After Voyager had been lost in the Delta Quadrant, however, several medical researchers discovered this was not quite enough of a margin of error for some hybrid females. When gynecologists reported a number of unexpected pregnancies in hybrids who utilized this method of birth control, a study was undertaken which found that for many hybrids, the actual length of efficacy was 85% of the time that had been predicted through "conventional wisdom." When the implant failed in such women, it did so spectacularly. The final dosages of hormones flooded out all at once, triggering ovulation rather than suppressing it. The doctors performing the study were delighted to discover this simple treatment for many female hybrids who suffered from fertility problems. It had been used for this purpose quite successfully in the Alpha Quadrant for the past two years. 

If Tom had not scrupulously taken care of replacing his own implant subsequent to B'Elanna's first unexpected pregnancy, which occurred when he hadn't replaced his implants on time, B'Elanna surely would have become gravid again long ago. It was a good thing they had decided to have another child. One sperm had already won the race to the egg and was even then boring towards conception. By the time the Doctor removed B'Elanna's implant the following week, he was shocked to discover she was already pregnant with her second child. 

The Doctor uncovered the reason after researching articles contained in medical journals downloaded from the data streams Voyager had received from the Alpha Quadrant over the past couple of years. He had never felt that integrating the obstetrical data contained in those journals was a priority, since no one on board ship had expressed any interest in becoming pregnant after Linnis Paris' birth. Once again, the unique physiology of B'Elanna Torres forced the Doctor to adjust his medical protocols. 

He was not amused.

=/\=

As the still-oblivious parents of Miral K'Laren Paris beamed up from the beach, they had no idea their second daughter was already commencing her own life's journey. Miral's career, arguably, would surpass that of all the previous admirals in the Paris family's illustrious line. Throughout her very long life, she would experience a multitude of adventures and ultimately live a love story almost as fascinating as that of her parents'. All of this, of course, was hidden from her parents by the mystery that is time.

There was one thing, however, which was not hidden from B'Elanna Torres and Thomas Paris. Both were confident that any child they were privileged to conceive would be loved and cherished just as deeply as their Linnis had been--and would always be--which was, simply, as much as they loved and cherished each other.

And that would be enough.

 

=/\=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Footprints in the Sand": The unsuccessful love affairs about which Harry reminisces were featured in "The Disease," teleplay by Michael Taylor from a story by Kenneth Biller, and "Ashes to Ashes," teleplay by Robert Doherty from a story by Ronald Wilkerson. The latter episode helped me come around and accept that the characters were right about "Night" and "Extreme Risk." The introduction of the Borg children, including Icheb, occurred in the sixth season episode "Collective," teleplay by Michael Taylor from a story by Andrew Shephard Price and Mark Gaberman.
> 
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


	10. Epilogue:  Daughter of the Heart

**Epilogue: Daughter of the Heart**

 

"I'm not who I always thought I was! You stole my body! I'm nothing to you! We have nothing in common except we were both just garbage, scavenged out of space!" The girl angrily lashed out at the person she had always believed was her mother. 

The daughter's response to her newfound knowledge was fierce, but not entirely unexpected. Jhet'leya sighed in recognition, recalling an adage she thought she'd long forgotten that had been passed on for centuries on a world located on the other side of the galaxy.

What goes around, comes around.

Angry, rebellious teenager; anguished parent; the same old story, repeated over and over, as a new generation pushes away the previous one in the struggle to discover their own place in society. Adolescence is never easy, but it is harder for some than others. For the Kobali, it was often excruciatingly difficult, simply because of who and what they are. 

She resisted the urge to minimize her daughter's distress with a patronizing response, such as the one her father had used the first time she had confronted him: "Now, now, dear, it's nothing like you're imagining," would never do. Instead, Jhet'leya patted the couch as she sat down and urged her daughter, "Sit down next to me, Love. Let's talk about it."

"I can't talk about it! I'm too upset!" The daughter began to pace relentlessly from one end of the room to the other, almost bouncing from one wall or the other in agitation. 

Jhet'leya waited as patiently as she could, hoping she had prepared herself well for what she was about to impart. It was not as if she hadn't known this day would come eventually. The bromides Jhet’leya’s own father had fed her when she learned the truth had led to simmering resentment and an intense longing for escape. Jhet'leya ran away from Q'ret, from the life she had been leading, to go back to where she thought she had belonged. Sadly, she found out she didn't belong there anymore. Father had known best, although his method of communicating this knowledge to her could have been much more compassionate. It might have prevented her from exploding the way she did. Moreover, Jhet'leya hadn't had the excuse of being an adolescent when she discovered the truth. She had allegedly been fully grown and mature when it happened to her.

Eventually, the wild pacing diminished, and the girl thumped upon the seat next to her mother, saying, accusingly, "I suppose you're going to say it's always been this way and I shouldn't worry about it, right?"

"No, I'm not going to say that. As a matter of fact it hasn't always been this way. The Kobali once were able to reproduce without having to resort to advanced medical procedures. I still don't have a clear idea about why or even when that changed, but it did, many generations ago." Jhet'leya looked up at the ceiling, unable at this moment to look her daughter in the eye, before she plowed on. "As far as I know, our species is like no other. We procreate using the dead of other races, from what those other peoples believe are only the shells of bodies, to be cast off after death. We are alive because other lives have ended. It is always a shock to learn the Kobali facts of life."

Jhet'leya risked a glance at her offspring. The girl was trembling, as if she were about to break into sobs, but the sound that finally emerged was more of a growl. Jhet'leya had to force herself not to smile, since it clearly would be misconstrued by her daughter under the circumstances. Jhet'leya, however, was well aware of the source of that growl. She again counseled herself to be patient.

After pondering what her mother had said for several long minutes, the girl stated morosely, "So M'stera is right. We are scavengers of the dead."

"Oh, dearest, I wouldn't put it that way!" Jhet'leya hesitated. She had promised to be completely honest about this. "I guess, in the strictest sense, maybe we do 'scavenge the dead,' but it's so much more than that, really. The Kobali salvage lives that are unfinished, that were tragically ended well before their time."

"You make us sound so noble!"

"I have come to see it that way. I admit, I didn't always. Most of us don't learn about this until we are ready to understand and accept it, but a few have memory break-through. I was one of those, and I didn't take it very well. And every so often, one young person who learns the truth decides, for reasons of his or her own, to share the secret with someone younger than they are, who is not ready to accept it. And when that happens—well, you see what's happening here, and how you're feeling right now." 

Jhet'leya paused. It was hard to know what else to say. The pause gave her a chance to realize an obvious fact which caused her to lash out indignantly, "And I'd like to know just how M'stera found out about this! She's younger than you are!"

"Her older brother told her. I think he was mad at her for borrowing something of his without his permission. She didn't tell me what it was, exactly . . . " From the way this last sentence trailed off, Jhet'leya was fairly certain her daughter knew exactly what had been borrowed, something which M’stera may well have broken, considering the clumsiness the girl so often displayed.

Jhet'leya recalled things which had occurred between her and her own brother, so many years ago. Apparently, brother and sister relationships weren't really all that different on either side of the galaxy, no matter how sets of siblings were procreated.

After another pause of some length, her daughter asked, "So, what's the story with me? How did you . . . 'find' this piece of garbage?"

"Honey, don't say that! The little child you used to be couldn't use her body any more, that's true, but you weren't garbage! I know how much your parents loved you. They were devastated when you were killed."

"How can you know that?" The young girl eyed her mother suspiciously, as if she were about to shift into an entirely different shape from the one she'd always known.

"I knew them. In fact, I knew them before you were born. We were part of the same starship crew once. Your mother was my boss, actually. But I died before her daughter was born."

"And so you just happened to find my body floating in space after you died?" By facial expression as well as by tone of voice, she was clearly incredulous. 

"Well, no. Your father told me where I should look."

"How could he do that if you had already died?"

She hesitated. Her Kobali father Q'ret had entreated her never to tell her daughter about her former life. Now she was thankful she'd never actually made that promise, only that she'd try not to tell. As she looked into her daughter’s face, Jhet'leya knew she had to reveal it. 

"It's a long story. I'll tell you all about it some other time, when you're less upset. But the short of it is, I remembered who I had been before I became Kobali, my kyn'steya, and I, um, I borrowed a ship to go back to Voyager to try and pick up the pieces of my old life there. Your grandfather came after me and begged me to come back. When I finally realized it wasn't working out on Voyager, I did come back with him."

"Voyager was the name of the starship?"

"Yes. It had been brought here from the other side of the galaxy, and we were trying to get back home to the Alpha Quadrant. That's what they called the part of the galaxy they came from. They called this the Delta Quadrant. Anyway, as I was getting ready to leave the ship, your 'birth father,' as I guess I should call him, caught up with me in a corridor and gave me a couple of data chips. He said he and your mother had downloaded information about other crew members who had been buried in space, like we had been, so that the Kobali could salvage them if possible. What they really wanted me to do, though, was to go back for you. He asked me to become your mother, if we could reanimate you."

"He didn't mind?"

"Oh, Honey, I know he minded. Both of them loved you so much! During that short time I was back on Voyager, I learned just how badly they missed you! But they understood that you could no longer belong to them. If the Kobali could bring you back to life, it would have to be as a Kobali. Your parents loved you so much that they were willing to have me raise you, if only you could still have a life!"

The room was silent for a very long time, as her daughter contemplated this sacrifice by her first parents. Finally, the daughter murmured, "So, what species were they?"

"Your father was a human being, from a planet known as Earth, or Terra. Same as me, in fact. Your mother was half human, but she was also part Klingon. I forget what planet she was born on. I don't think it was the Klingon home world, but I might be wrong about that." 

"They both were from the other side of the galaxy?"

"Yes, which is a very long way from here."

"Will I ever get to meet them?"

That was a tough one to answer, but she'd promised to be completely honest. "It's not very likely. I hope that Voyager got home years ago. I don't expect they'd want to come back if they did--and if they did return, I don't think they would know to visit us here."

The girl considered this for a moment before asking, "What were their names?"

"Your mother was called B'Elanna Torres, and your dad was Thomas Paris. They were such a handsome couple. And smart . . . your mother was the ship's Chief Engineer, and your father was the best ship's pilot I ever knew. I've often thought your brilliance in your scientific and mathematical subjects, as well as your flair for creative thinking, were inherited from the two of them. I wish you could remember them, but you were such a young baby when they lost you."

"Remember them? Do most of us remember our old lives? Our . . .what did you call it?"

"Kyn'steya. Most don't, not usually. But those of us created from humans always seem to spontaneously remember who we used to be. The memories don't stay buried, like they do with most Kobali. At least, we do if we were adults when we were created. I don't know about a very young child, like you were. I guess you may never remember them."

After another long pause in the conversation, the teenager said, "You know, sometimes I feel like I don't fit in with everyone else. I get so angry and hostile sometimes, and everyone tells me I shouldn't be that way. But how can I stop myself if I feel that way? It's all so confusing. Do you think who I used to be, maybe, could be the reason?"

"Well, just between us, it could be, from your mother's Klingon side. Most of our DNA is now Kobali, but there's always some left within us from what we originally inherit from our birth parents. And I've always found Klingons to be very . . . vigorous. Especially your mother! Not that your human father wasn't pretty lively himself! Now that you know the truth, maybe I can help you more in understanding that when it happens. You know, now that I think about it, I shouldn't be too upset with M'stera or her brother. I wasn't looking forward to telling you about all of this. I knew there would be a big explosion when you finally found out! Really, you will understand some day. We all do. It's just that 'Some take more time than others.' " Jhet'leya smiled, cherishing a memory of her own, when she was finally ready to accept her father's telling her that. 

"Did it take you a long time?"

"A very long time. But I did, finally. I think finding you, and having you for my daughter, helped me the most."

"Mama," the teenager said softly, using that name for the first time since storming inside their home. "What was my name? The one my parents used for me?"

"Linnis."

The teenager glanced up, startled. "You mean you gave me the name I'd always had?" 

"Of course. After all, I knew your name. Why would I change it? It's a lovely name."

Linnis leaned towards her mother and opened her arms. Jhet'leya swept Linnis into her own, kissing the brow, subtly ridged beneath the beautifully patterned skin on her skull that exclaimed to all who met her that she bore a unique heritage. No amount of genetic Engineering had been able to remove those distinctive ridges, inherited from her birth mother. Jhet'leya rejoiced at that failure, for it reminded her time and time again of the parents who, forever parted from their cherished child, gave Jhet'leya the most precious gift she had ever received--in either of her lives.

Perhaps tomorrow, much sooner than she had expected, Jhet'leya would be able to show her daughter the holographic images the Doctor had included on the data chips Tom Paris had given the former Lyndsay Ballard. Linnis would finally learn the source of those ridges, and from whom those startlingly blue eyes had come. Not today, though. Linnis had already received far too much information to absorb easily, at such a tender age. 

Now that she did know, however, perhaps it was time for Jhet'leya to plan a reunion of her former shipmates from Voyager who, like the two of them, had been found by the Kobali and had returned from the dead to live new lives. It might be fun—even if the party snacks wouldn't be at all like those Neelix had served them on Voyager.

Jhet'leya's musings were interrupted by a contrite, "Mama, I'm sorry I blew up at you."

She chuckled. "Like I said--I always expected it."

Linnis hugged her mother back. Her very own mother. It would be a while before Linnis could completely digest everything she'd just learned, but she'd already heard enough to realize she had something else she needed to say. 

"Mama, thank you. For going back for me."

It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. Jhet'leya would remember it, and how wonderful it made her feel, for the rest of her days.

=/\=

The End

=/\=

 

**Notes and Acknowledgements:**

This story could never have been written if Paramount Studios and Viacom had not permitted Michael Piller, Rick Berman, and Jeri Taylor to create Star Trek: Voyager, which was brilliantly conceived and executed in the series pilot, "Caretaker." More fanfic seems to have been set in the Star Trek: Voyager universe than in any other of the recent Star Trek series, with the exception, of course, is the original series, which has been around for close to five decades. While the timing of Star Trek: Voyager may have contributed to this, beginning as it did when the technology of computing and the Internet were becoming more generally available and user-friendly, I firmly believe that the strength of the characters and love they engendered in so many viewers has much to do with the creative outpouring of so many fans.

Piller, Berman, and Taylor, in turn, could not have created Star Trek: Voyager without the "original" Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry. Transporters, photon torpedoes, warp drive—if the producers and writers of the original series did not actually create all of these concepts, they certainly popularized them. I can make no claim to ownership of any elements or characters copyrighted by these entities. I can "copyright" only those elements of these stories that have not originated with them. I can say only a very humble thanks to all of these creative talents for providing me with the tools to create this take on their creation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Daughter of the Heart": The epilogue was inspired by "Ashes to Ashes," teleplay by Robert Doherty from a story by Ronald Wilkerson. At the end of that episode, Lyndsay Ballard arrives at the Transporter Room by herself. Harry is already at the control station, waiting to send her back to her Kobali father. Thus a couple of data chips could easily have been passed along to Lyndsay while she was on her way to the Transporter Room. This episode was written in the true spirit of science fiction, especially as portrayed in all of the Star Trek series. Dead is not always dead, or as Miracle Max says in The Princess Bride, "He's dead, but only mostly dead." Thanks, Robert Doherty and Ronald Wilkerson, for helping a fanfic writer push through Writer's Block.
> 
> =/\=
> 
> Copious thanks are also due to my beta readers, who have provided invaluable assistance and encouragement. Any remaining errors are mine alone. Thanks, Annie M, Redshoes, Stephane, Ann, D'Alaire, Tex, PJ Senior, PJ Junior, and Julie. 
> 
> =/\=
> 
> General Disclaimer: The world of Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom, Inc. I make no claim of ownership to these characters, only gratitude for the opportunity to let them live a little outside the boundaries of episodic television.


End file.
